[See  p.  131 

"SHE     KNELT     DOWN     BKKORE     HIM.    .     .     .     THK     WOMAN     IN     HER 
PLEADED    AS    BEFORE    A     LAWMAN  " 


Randvar  the   Songsmith 


A  Romance  of  Norumbega 


By 

Ottilie    A.    Liljencrantz 

Author  of 
"  The  Thrall  of  Leif  the  Lucky  "  etc. 


Ne<k>     York     and    London 
Harper     &    Brothers     Publishers 
1906 


Copyright,  1906,  by  HAKPEK  &   BROTHERS. 


Published    February,    1906. 


"  Yet  onward  still  to  ear  and  eye 

The  baffling  marvel  calls; 
I  fain  would  look  before  I  die 
On  Norumbega's  walls." 

—John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


2137025 


The  Skeleton    in   Armor 

By 
Henry    Wa.ds<worth   Longfellow 


"Speak!  speak!  thou  fearful  guest! 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 

Comest  to  daunt  me ! 
'  Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms. 
But  with  thy  fle  shies  s  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 
Why  dost  thou  haunt  me?" 

Then,  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seem  to  rise, 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 

Gleam  in  December; 
And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December  s  snow. 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber. 

' '  I  was  a  Viking  old ! 
My  deeds,   though  manifold, 
No  Skald  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  dead  man' s  curse; 
For  this  I  sought  thee. 
v 


The  Skeleton   in   Armor 

"Far  in  the  Northern  Land. 
By  the  wild  Baltic  strand. 
I,  with  my  childish  hand, 

Tamed  the  gerfalcon; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound, 
Skimmed  the  half -frozen  Sound, 
That  the  poor' whimpering  hound 

Trembled  to  walk  on. 

''Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear. 
While  from  my  path  tlw  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow; 
Oft  through  tJie  forest  dark 
Followed  the  werc-wolf's  bark, 
Until  the  soaring  lark 
Sang  from  the  meadorv. 

"But  when  I  older  grew, 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 

With  the  marauders. 

Wild  was  the  life  we  led; 

Many  the  souls  that  sped; 

Many  the  hearts  thai  hied, 

By  our  stern  orders. 

"Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  winter  out; 
Often  our  midnight  slioiit 

Set  the  cocks  crowing, 
As  we  the  Berserk's  tale 
Measured  in  cups  of  ale, 
Draining  the  oaken   pail', 

Filled  to  o'er  flowing. 

"  Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Talcs  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 
Burning  -yet  tender; 
vi 


The  Skeleton   in  Armor 

And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 
Fell  their  soft  splendor. 

"I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid, 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid, 
And  in  the  forest's  shade, 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast, 
Like  birds  within  their  nest 

By  the  hawk  frighted. 

"Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shield  gleamed  upon  the  wall, 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all, 

Chanting  his  glory; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand, 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

' '  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed, 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed, 
And  as  the  wind- gusts  waft 

The  sea-foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 

Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

"She  was  a  Prince's  child, 
I  but  a  Viking  wild, 
And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

1  was  discarded  ! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea-mew's  flight, 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 
Her  nest  unguarded  ? 
vii 


The  Skeleton  in  Armor 

"Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me, — 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen/ — 
When  on  the  white  sea-strand, 
Waving  his  armed  hand. 
Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 
With  twenty  horsemen. 

"  Then  launched  they  to  tlw  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast, 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast, 

When  the  wind  jailed  us; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 
Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 

"And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
Death!  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

Death  without  quarter  ! 
'Midships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  lier  ribs  of  steel; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 
Through  the  black  water ! 

"As  with  his  wings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt, 

With  his  prey  laden, 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again. 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 
Bore  I  the  maiden. 

"  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 
Stretching  to  leeward; 
viii 


The  Skeleton  in  Armor 

There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 
Stands  looking  seaward. 

' '  There  lived  we  many  years; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears, 

She  was  a  mother; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue   eyes, 
Under  that  tower  she  lies; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 
On  such  another  ! 

"Still  grew  my  bosom  then, 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sunlight  hateful ! 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

O,  death  was  grateful! 

"  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars 
Bursting  these  prison  bars 
Up  to  its  native  stars 
My  soul  ascended  ! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
SKOAL!  to  the  Northland!  SKOAL!' 
Thus  the  tale  ended. 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 


Randvar   the   Song  smith 


"A  man's  foes  are  those  of  his  own  house" 

— Northern  saying. 

N  the  old  world  over  the  ocean  the 
storm  of  the  Norman  Conquest  was 
raging,  but  no  rumble  of  it  reached 
across  the  water  to  the  new  world 
and  that  oasis  in  the  wilderness 
which  men  call  now  the  lost  city  of  Norumbega, 
but  which  was  known  in  those  days  as  the  Town 
of  Starkad  Jarl.  There  in  the  primeval  forest  the 
breath  of  October  was  a  silver  elixir  in  the  air,  and 
the  morning  breeze  carried  only  the  notes  of  hunt 
ing-horns.  When  half  a  dozen  young  Norsemen 
came  galloping  down  a  tree-arched  aisle,  their  talk 
dealt  with  no  greater  matter  than  the  latest  freak 
of  their  Jarl's  freakish  son. 

"It  is  seen  from  the   hoof -marks   that   he   has 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

not  turned  aside.  We  need  not  wait  long  to  over 
take—" 

"  Suppose  he  should  not  want  to  turn  back— 

"Heard  I  never  of  a  jarl's  hunt  that  began  by 
hunting  the  Jarl's  son!" 

"  He  was  quiet  in  riding  out  of  the  Town  with 
us;  what  caused  him  to  spur  ahead?" 

"  Only  that  he  had  a  whim  to  be  alone,  as  he  is 
apt." 

"  I  remember  how  he  broke  away  once  last 
spring." 

"  It  may  be  that  this  fall  he  has  done  it  once  too 
often.  Starkad  is  wroth." 

So  the  talk  ran  on  until  the  tall  leader  drew 
rein,  signalling  to  those  behind  him  to  check  their 
pace. 

"Slowly!"  he  said.  "Yonder  is  his  horse  teth 
ered.  It  would  ill  become  us  to  ride  upon  Star 
kad 's  son  as  though  we  were  charging  a  boar." 

"Even  though  we  shall  be  as  ill-received  as  if 
we  were,"  the  youngest  cf  the  horsemen  added 
with  a  laugh  of  some  uneasiness. 

The  leader  smiled  tolerantly.  He  wore  on  his 
long  body  fine  clothes  of  scarlet  leather,  and  on 
his  thin  lips  the  semblance  of  a  perpetual  smile. 

"Everything  grows  big  in  your  eyes,"  he  ob 
served.  "There!  I  think  I  see  gray  cloth  among 
those  green  bushes.  It  were  best  to  ride  on  until 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

we  come  where  he  may  see  that  there  are  too 
many  of  us  to  withstand ;  then  one  of  us  can  dis 
mount  and  approach  him  with  the  message." 

The  youngest  of  the  riders  laughed  again,  this 
time  somewhat  sarcastically.  "  No  one  is  better 
fitted  to  take  that  task  on  him  than  yourself,  Olaf , 
Thorgrim's  son.  For  what  else  did  you  spend 
your  fosterhood  in  France  but  to  get  smooth  man 
ners  to  use  in  rough  places?" 

"Yes,  yes!  By  all  means,  Olaf  is  the  man!" 
the  others  chorussed,  a  hint  of  malice  in  their 
promptness. 

If  Thorgrim's  French-reared  son  read  the  sign, 
it  made  no  difference  in  the  confidence  of  his  bear 
ing.  He  answered  that  if  it  was  their  wish  he 
would  certainly  undertake  the  errand,  and  im 
mediately  swung  from  his  saddle  as  gaining  the 
green  bushes,  they  came  into  view  of  the  wearer 
of  the  gray  kirtle. 

Prone  on  the  earth's  broad  bosom  the  young 
noble  had  thrown  himself  and  lay  with  his  head 
pillowed  on  his  folded  arms,  a  figure  of  utter  aban 
don.  Only  at  the  clink  of  spur  and  bridle -chain 
did  he  turn  upon  his  side  and  fling  back  a  mass  of 
blood-red  hair  from  a  face  of  startling  pallor.  What 
look  came  into  it  when  he  beheld  the  horsemen, 
they  were  not  near  enough  to  tell.  By  the  time  Olaf 
stood  before  him,  his  teeth  were  showing  a  snarl. 

3 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"Well,  dog,  you  have  tracked  your  quarry,"  he 
said.  "No  wonder  your  trainers  set  store  by  you! 
What  is  the  rest  of  your  master's  bidding?" 

Olaf  laughed  lightly.  "Certainly,  Jarl's  son, 
you  should  be  a  scald ;  you  speak  so  glibly  in  fig 
ures.  Starkad  sends  you  orders  to  turn  back  and 
take  your  place  again  in  the  following." 

Starkad 's  son  drew  himself  slowly  into  a  sitting 
posture.  Then  of  a  sudden  his  body  was  con 
vulsed  with  laughter,  —  laughter  mocking  as  the 
mirth  of  a  devil. 

"Who  am  I  that  I  should  stand  in  the  way  of 
the  Jarl's  will?"  he  gasped  between  his  paroxysms, 
and  shaking  with  them  rose  to  his  feet. 

But  when  he  had  come  where  the  youngest  of 
the  riders  was  holding  his  horse  in  waiting,  either 
the  young  man's  ill-concealed  uneasiness,  or  some 
reminder  growing  out  of  it,  caused  his  mood  to 
change.  With  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  he  lingered, 
sobering  until  his  face  betrayed  even  the  pinching 
hand  of  dread.  Vaulting  into  his  saddle,  he  spoke 
to  his  attendant  without  looking  at  him. 

"I  see  they  have  turned  my  hound  Sam  into 
the  pack,  though  the  wound  on  his  foot  is  still  un- 
healed.  Will  you,  Gunnar,  do  one  thing  for  me? 
Separate  him  from  the  rest  and  bring  him  to  me 
in  a  strong  leash." 

"  In  this  as  in  everything  you  have  only  to 

4 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

speak  to  have  your  will,"  Gunnar  gave  the  pre 
scribed  answer  absently.  It' was  not  until  he  felt 
the  foot  of  a  friend  behind  him  that  he  awoke  to 
the  mockery  of  the  phrase,  and  glanced  up  appalled. 

But  the  exasperation  lightning  at  him  did  not 
strike.  Amid  silence,  breathless,  storm-charged, 
the  Jarl's  son  took  the  reins  from  him,  wheeled  his 
horse  and  rode  back  up  the  leafy  path  and  out  of 
sight. 

In  a  moment  Olaf  was  spurring  after  Starkad's 
son,  but  the  remainder  of  the  escort  appeared  to 
be  in  no  great  haste  to  follow.  First  they  waited 
while  Gunnar  examined  the  buckle  of  his  girth; 
then  they  turned  to  scrutinize  two  figures  just 
emerging  into  the  open  from  a  brush-hidden  trail 
a  few  paces  on  their  right. 

Two  young  stags  browsing  the  scarlet  berries 
under  the  pines  would  scarcely  have  looked  more 
natural  to  the  scene,  for  one  was  a  savage  of  that 
new-world  race  which  the  early  Norse  explorers 
called  Skraellings,  with  hair  as  black  as  freshly 
turned  leaf-mould,  and  a  shining  naked  body  of 
the  hue  of  an  oak- leaf  in  November ;  and  the  other, 
in  the  deer-skin  garb  of  a  forester,  with  uncovered 
locks  reflecting  the  sun,  was  a  descendant  of  the 
Vikings  themselves  and  showed  untamed  blood  in 
his  handsome  face  as  he  raised  it  to  look  ahead  at 
the  horsemen. 

5 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

The  red  man  the  courtiers  passed  over  indiffer 
ently,  but  on  the  white  one  they  were  beginning 
favorable  comment  when  the  call  of  a  distant  horn 
cut  them  short.  Wheeling  hastily,  they  gave  their 
horses  spur  and  rein,  and  passed  up  the  shaded 
alley  like  a  whirl  of  frost-tinted  maple-leaves. 

Upon  them,  the  young  forester  made  but  one 
remark.  He  and  his  companion  had  halted  as  at  a 
parting  of  the  ways,  and  his  hands  were  busy  de 
taching  a  deer's-horn  cup  from  his  belt. 

"  I  would  travel  a  day's  journey  to  see  a  horse 
run  like  that,"  he  said.  "Often  I  dream  of  feel 
ing  one  between  my  knees,  and  waken  because  my 
enjoyment  is  too  real  for  a  vision." 

The  young  savage's  throat  gave  out  a  sound  of 
comprehending,  and  his  friend  did  not  wait  for  a 
longer  response.  He  had  filled  the  horn  from  a 
flask  of  porcupine-skin  that  hung  around  his  neck ; 
now  he  raised  it  aloft. 

"To  you,  comrade!  May  your  arrows  and  your 
swallow's  always  go  the  right  way.  Skoal!"  he 
toasted,  then  refilled  the  cup  and  handed  it  to  the 
other,  who  answered  in  the  same  Northern  tongue, 
though  haltingly. 

"To  my  brother!  May  he  drink  much  of  his 
enemies'  blood — as  much  as  his  friends  have  drunk 
of  his  wine.  Skoal!" 

It  was  not  seen  that  the  Northman  made  any 

6 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

grimace.  While  his  mouth  showed  no  blood- 
thirstiness,  its  hard  line  bespoke  one  used  to  grim 
ways.  He  said  carelessly: 

"My  foster-mother  has  the  gift  of  double  sight, 
but  even  she  has  never  seen  that  I  have  enemies. 
How  came  that  notion  into  your  head,  brother?" 

After  the  manner  of  his  kind,  the  Skraelling  was 
deliberate  in  answering,  letting  the  purple  juice 
trickle  slowly  down  his  throat;  but  he  finished  at 
last,  and  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  departed 
courtmen. 

"There  went  some  of  the  young  men  who  follow 
the  head  of  my  brother's  people.  They  are  more 
bright  than  white  fire-bugs  with  the  gifts  they  get 
for  their  friendship.  My  brother  is  also  young — 
a  warrior — the  son  of  a  warrior — yet  he  lives  apart 
in  the  forest,  with  a  handful  of  women  and  old 
men — gets  himself  nothing.  It  must  be  that  he 
has  enemies  among  his  people." 

The  young  forester  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders. 
"No  gifts  would  I  buy  at  the  price  Starkad  Jarl 
asks,  comrade.  My  little  foster  -  brother  Eric  is 
page  to  his  daughter ;  I  know  the  lot  of  those  who 
follow  him.  When  he  gives  the  sign  they  go  to 
roost,  whether  they  are  sleepy  or  not.  When  his 
priest  rings  a  bell  they  say  their  prayers,  even 
though  it  break  in  at  a  time  when  cursing  would 
come  more  easily  to  them.  It  is  not  allowed  them 

7 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

to  enjoy  any  sports  that  he  sets  his  face  against; 
and  they  drink  no  lower  in  the  cup  than  he  gives 
them  leave.  May  illness  eat  me  if  I  would  ever 
tame  myself  to  run  with  such  a  pack !  That  a  man 
like  my  father  should  have  been  willing  to  lie  quiet 
in  a  woman's  net  is  something  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  comprehend.  I  understand  him  better 
when  I  see  how  he  built  the  Tower  with  the  lower 
part  left  open  so  that  the  wind  could  blow  on  him 
all  the  year  round  and  help  him  to  forget  that  he 
was  under  a  roof." 

Once  more  the  Skraelling's  deliberate  speech  was 
delayed,  this  time  by  a  baying  of  deep -voiced 
hounds  rumbling  up  out  of  the  distance  like 
thunder.  Following  it,  the  pack  streamed  past — 
stragglers  bursting  from  the  brush  behind  them  to 
skirt  them  with  extended  noses  or  jostle  between 
them,  leaving  froth-flecks  on  their  sides — and  hard 
after  the  hounds  rode  the  hunting  party,  led  by 
a  band  of  green-clad  pages  winding  gilded  horns. 
With  the  leisureliness  of  one  whose  pride  forbids 
a  display  of  curiosity,  the  Skraelling  set  his  eagle 
face  again  over  his  shoulder;  and  his  companion, 
who  had  started  to  remark  upon  the  scene,  gave 
up  with  a  shrug  the  attempt  to  make  himself  heard 
against  the  blaring. 

The  din  passed  at  last,  and  on  its  heels  came  a 
colorful  train  —  stately  old  priests  and  chieftains 

8 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

gravely  discussing  the  hunts  of  their  youth,  high 
born  maidens  with  shining  uncovered  locks,  and 
matrons  whose  lace  veils  floated  cloudily  from 
their  moonlike  faces,  stocky  young  thralls  bent 
under  hampers  and  wine  -  skins,  and  towering 
leather-clad  guardsmen  bearing  bright  spears  on 
their  shoulders.  With  the  hoof -beat  of  the  pranc 
ing  horses  deadened  by  the  matted  leaves,  they 
went  by  as  lightly  as  shapes  in  a  vision,  each  for 
an  instant  illumined  as  he  passed  where  a  shaft  of 
sunlight  fell  through  a  rift  in  the  arching  tree- 
tops. 

As  the  first  pair  of  the  noble  maidens  reached 
it,  sitting  gracefully  erect  in  their  saddles  like 
gilded  chairs,  the  forester  motioned  towards  them. 

"The  one  with  her  face  turned  away  is  the  Jarl's 
daughter,  Brynhild  the  Proud.  It  is  said  that  she 
is  worth  looking  at,  though  it  has  never  happened 
to  me  to  do  so." 

If  the  Skraelling  looked  at  her,  that  was  all  the 
notice  he  vouchsafed.  It  was  not  until  the  last 
maiden  had  gone  by  that  he  was  stirred  to  interest. 

"That  is  the  great  sachem  that  the  sun  now 
shines  on?"  he  asked. 

"  That  is  Starkad  Jarl,"  the  Northman  confirmed ; 
and  even  as  he  said  it,  the  old  man  with  the  jaw, 
like  iron  and  the  beard  like  steel  had  passed  on  into 
the  shade,  and  the  light  was  playing  on  the  comely 

9 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

group  that  followed,  revealing  foppish  secrets  of 
gay  embroidery  and  golden  buckle. 

"Here  are  the  battle-twigs  we  saw  a  while  ago," 
the  young  forester  added.  "  I  wish  I  knew  if  any 
of  them  is  Helvin,  the  Jarl's  son." 

The  Skraelling  answered  but  one  word.  "  Blood !" 
he  said;  and  while  the  young  men  remained  in 
sight  his  eyes  rested  on  one  in  garments  of  gray, 
whose  bowed  head  was  hooded  by  hair  of  the  very 
shade  of  clotted  blood. 

Looking  after  the  young  courtmen,  the  forester 
seemed  to  lose  all  who  followed.  When  leaves  had 
blotted  out  the  last  guard's  broad  brown  back, 
and  the  music  of  the  horns  had  dwindled  to  a  silver 
speck  in  the  gray  silence,  he  spoke  musingly : 

"Take  Helvin,  now,  if  you  wish  to  judge  what 
metal  comes  of  Starkad's  forging.  It  is  said  that 
he  was  born  with  the  wanderlust  upon  him,  so 
that  his  every  breath  is  a  panting  to  take  ship  and 
travel  over  the  sea-king's  road  wheresoever  the 
wolf  of  the  sail  might  choose  to  drive  him.  But 
because  the  sons  that  came  before  him  are  dead, 
and  the  only  other  heir  is  a  maiden,  his  sister,  it 
is  not  allowed  him  to  risk  his  life.  It  may  be  they 
will  find  out  that  they  have  cherished  the  scab 
bard  and  rusted  the  blade, — they  say  that  the  fire 
cased  in  his  flesh  has  given  him  an  unlucky  dis 
position." 

10 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

The  savage's  black  eyes  gave  forth  a  sympathetic 
flash,  though  his  training  in  repression  kept  the 
feeling  out  of  his  voice.  He  said  calmly: 

"A  day  will  come  when  it  will  be  over.  The 
old  man  cannot  live  forever.  Already  he  has 
passed  so  far  beyond  the  timber-line  that  nothing 
grows  on  his  scalp." 

The  Northman  shook  his  head.  "Starkad's 
death  will  bring  Helvin  no  nearer  what  lies  at  his 
heart;  he  is  oath-bound  to  take  the  rule  after  his 
father, — so  full  of  fear  are  they  lest  quarrels  over 
the  inheritance  gnaw  at  the  root  of  the  Jarldom. 
But  I  will  say  that  I  think  his  rule  will  prove  to 
be  a  good  thing  for  the  Town,  which  is  now  in 
danger  of  becoming  more  lifeless  than  a  bone-heap. 
From  all  I  have  heard  of  his  dislike  of  making  a 
show  of  himself  and  his  love  of  free  ways,  I  have 
good  hopes  of  him.  It  has  often  been  in  my  mind 
to  take  service  under  him  when  he  shall  get  the 
leadership.  For  Starkad  I  have  no  respect  what 
ever.  It  is  told  that  when  he  was  young  he  was 
called  Starkad  the  Berserker,  and  had  the  most 
hand  in  every  Viking  voyage  and  man-slaying ;  but 
now  that  the  sap  has  dried  in  him,  and  he  has  put 
on  Olaf  the  Saint's  religion,  he  expects  all  men  to 
live  like  monks." 

The  Skraelling  gazed  reflectively  in  the  direction 
of  the  vanished  cavalcade. 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"Truth  to  say,  the  young  braves  of  my  race  do 
not  feel  much  love  for  the  white  man,"  he  said, 
presently.  "He  comes  among  us  as  one  who 
comes  among  animals — driving  them  out  to  pos 
sess  himself  of  their  feeding-ground — dealing  with 
them  only  when  he  wants  profit  out  of  their  hides. 
The  grayheads  give  us  counsel  to  live  in  peace 
with  the  settlers  of  Norumbega.  On  the  four 
trading-days  of  the  year  when  they  let  us  into  their 
walls,  they  trade  us  useful  things  for  our  furs. 
But  those  of  us  whose  teeth  are  still  firm  in  our 
jaws  do  not  like  it  to  be  led  in  as  white  men's  cows 
are  led  in  to  be  milked,  then  turned  out  to  pasture, 
the  bars  put  up  behind  them." 

Straightening,  he  stood  a  bronze  image  of 
wounded  pride.  The  young  forester,  as  he  bent 
to  fasten  one  of  his  moccasin-strings,  looked  up  at 
him  understandingly.  The  softening  feature  of 
the  Northman's  face  was  his  eyes,  deep  blue  as  an 
evening  sky,  under  level  brows,  broad  and  dark. 
When  the  thong  was  tied,  he  put  out  a  hand  and 
rested  it  on  his  companion's  bare  shoulder. 

"Judge  not,  brother,  all  of  the  white  race  from 
the  behavior  of  one  overbearing  old  man.  It 
seems  to  me  as  if  your  people  and  my  people  should 
dwell  together  like  sons  of  one  father.  Our  hands 
are  equally  open  to  a  friend,  and  no  less  hard- 
clinched  against  a  foe;  and  you  do  not  surpass  us 

12 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

much  in  freedom  and  fearing  nothing.  When  it 
has  befallen  the  other  white  men  to  see  the  wonder 
of  your  woodcraft  as  I  have  seen  it,  and  to  be 
sheltered  and  fed  by  your  hospitality  as  I  have 
been,  there  will  be  much  awanting  if  they  do  not 
hold  you  as  high  in  honor  as  I  do." 

Unbending  gravely,  the  born  heir  of  the  forest 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  breast  of  the  forest's  adopt 
ed  son. 

"  I  know  good  of  you;  I  will  try  to  believe  good 
of  your  people,"  he  said.  "Come  back  with  me 
now,  brother.  The  lodge  of  the  sachem,  my 
father,  is  open  to  you.  Always  open  to  you." 

A  second  time  the  Northman  shook  his  head. 
"That  cannot  be,  comrade,  for  I  came  up  here  to 
learn  a  trap  secret  from  an  old  huntsman,  and 
having  got  it,  I  must  hasten  back  and  put  it  to  use 
before  I  forget  it.  Do  you  on  your  side  bear  in 
mind,  when  next  you  paddle  your  bark-boat  near 
the  island,  that  the  Tower  will  offer  heartier  wel 
come  to  none  than  to  you." 

His  hand  fell  from  the  bronze  shoulder  to  the 
bronze  palm,  and  with  a  strong  clasp  the  two  men 
parted, — the  red  man  to  melt  into  the  russet  shades 
beside  them,  the  forester  to  go  forward  in  the 
wake  of  the  hunting  party. 

Had  it  blazed  its  path  with  axes,  the  cavalcade 
would  scarcely  have  left  a  plainer  track.  Wher- 

13 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

ever  foot  and  hoof  had  failed  to  print  themselves 
on  the  path  of  leathery  leaves,  there  was  always 
the  clew  of  a  bruised  lichen  or  a  fern  with  a  broken 
spine.  Swinging  along  easily,  mile  after  mile,  the 
forester  devoted  his  superfluous  breath  to  hum 
ming  scraps  of  melody  and  his  alert  eye  to  read 
ing  the  fantastic  runes.  Here  a  bleeding  tangle 
of  wild  grape-vine  stretched  out  plundered  hands. 
Yonder  a  long  golden  hair,  floating  like  fairy  gos 
samer  from  a  low-growing  limb,  showed  how  the 
forest  had  exacted  weregeld.  Still  farther  on,  a 
patch  of  flattened  moss  and  ploughed-up  earth 
told  sly  tales  of  a  horseman  brought  low.  When 
he  came  at  last  to  the  place  where  his  road  branched 
westward  from  theirs,  he  yielded  the  rune-page 
with  regret. 

That  he  might  overtake  any  of  the  company  did 
not  occur  to  him.  His  attention  was  centred  in 
his  song,  gradually  becoming  articulate  and  ris 
ing  melodiously  from  under  his  breath.  It  broke 
a  word  in  two  when  he  caught  the  hoarse  snarl 
of  a  hound  in  the  thicket  ahead. 

As  well  as  though  he  could  see  through  the  in 
tervening  leaves  he  knew  the  hideous  landmark 
that  lay  before  him, — a  pond  which  the  Skraellings 
called  by  a  word  meaning  "the  black  pool,"  be 
cause  some  sinister  combination  of  soil  and  shad 
ow  gave  its  water  the  appearance  of  being  dully 

14 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

thickly  black.  Tradition  added  that  rather  than 
enter  it,  a  fleeing  stag  would  let  his  pursuer  kill 
him  on  the  brink.  If  any  hunted  thing  had  been 
brought  to  bay  there  now,  the  finish  might  be 
worth  seeing.  Quickening  his  step,  the  young 
Northman  leaped  the  stony  channel  of  a  dead 
brook  and  swept  aside  the  screening  boughs. 

Set  amid  frost-blasted  bushes  and  leafless  bark- 
less  tree -skeletons,  the  Black  Pool  met  his  gaze; 
but  it  was  no  four-footed  creature  that  fought  for 
life  at  the  black  water's  edge.  Above  the  brush 
rose  the  gray-clad  shoulders  of  the  young  court- 
man  with  the  blood-colored  hair.  Rearing  as  tall 
as  he,  one  of  the  great  hunting-dogs  had  sprung 
upon  him;  while  one  hand  strove  to  draw  his  dag 
ger,  the  other  was  struggling  to  hold  foaming  jaws 
from  his  throat. 

To  see  his  peril  was  to  will  to  aid  him ;  and  with 
the  forester,  to  will  was  to  act.  But  even  as  the 
impulse  thrilled  him,  a  strange  sensation  blotted 
it  out.  With  his  first  forward  motion,  he  was 
seized  by  a  sudden  whirling  madness  as  though 
he  had  stepped  within  the  ring  of  a  whirlpool  and 
was  being  sucked  into  a  black  abyss  of  horror. 

It  lasted  but  an  instant.  Battling  against  it, 
his  fingers  clutched  instinctively  at  his  knife-hilt, 
missed  it  and  closed  instead  upon  the  blade,  and 
the  smart  of  cut  flesh  brought  him  to  himself. 

15 


Randvar  the  Sbngsmith 

But  in  the  time  that  he  hesitated,  the  courtman's 
hand  had  freed  his  weapon  and  plunged  it  into 
the  straining  throat;  there  was  a  death  howl, 
the  hiss  of  spurting  blood,  and  the  danger  was 
over.  The  great  body  relaxed,  stiffened,  sank 
heavily  out  of  sight  between  the  bushes,  and  the 
young  man  stood  wiping  his  blood-bathed  face 
upon  his  sleeve. 

Bewilderment  and  shame  claimed  the  forester. 
He  with  a  lion's  strength  in  the  girth  of  his  chest 
and  in  his  long  sinewy  limbs — he  whose  coolness 
had  cheated  Death  a  hundred  times — he  to  falter 
when  a  man  was  in  jeopardy  of  life  before  him! 
It  was  beyond  belief. 

He  saw  without  caring  that  the  courtman  seemed 
all  at  once  to  become  aware  of  another  presence, 
and  turned  and  espied  him.  He  heard  without 
heeding  a  peremptory  order  to  approach.  All  that 
he  was  conscious  of  was  a  desire  to  get  away  and 
fight  it  out  with  himself.  Raising  his  hand  in 
apology,  he  stepped  backward,  pushed  between 
two  tall  bushes,  and  let  the  wiry  brush  spring  to 
like  doors  behind  him. 

As  he  drew  clear  of  the  branches  a  silvered  ar 
row  sped  above  them,  so  well  aimed  that  it  severed 
a  lock  of  his  hair.  He  caught  his  breath  with  a 
short  laugh. 

"  I  forgot  that  high-born  men  do  not  take  it  well 
16 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

to  be  disregarded,"  he  muttered   as    he   plunged 
into  the  undergrowth. 

What  would  he  have  said  if  the  shaft  could  have 
whispered  as  it  whistled  past  that — back  under  the 
frost-blasted  bushes  —  Starkad  Jarl  lay  murdered, 
and  that  he  of  the  guilty  blood-colored  hair  be 
lieved  the  forester  had  witnessed  his  deed ! 


II 


"No  tree  falls  at  the  first  stroke" 

— Northern  saying. 

NE  touch  of  a  certain  three-cor 
nered  leaf,"  the  forester  reasoned 
as  he  moved  along  the  winding 
trail,  "is  able  to  make  a  man's 
flesh  change  color  and  swell  over 
his  eyes  like  a  wild  hog's  fat.  More  power  lies  in 
the  earth  than  simpletons  think  of.  What  would 
be  wonderful  about  it  if  such  water  should  breed 
a  vapor  befogging  to  the  wits?  Not  the  wits  of 
all  men,  perhaps — it  was  seen  that  the  courtman 
had  his  about  him — but  those  of  all  who  have  not 
Sigmund's  strength  against  poison."  Reasoning 
relapsed  into  mortification.  "It  goes  hard  to  be 
taught  that  I  am  one  of  the  weaklings.  Troll  take 
the  Pool!"  For  a  while  his  track  over  the  soft  leaf- 
mould  showed  that  his  heels  ground  deeply. 

Presently  he  made  an  effort  to  crowd  the  inci 
dent  out  of  his  thoughts  by  taking  up  the  broken 
thread  of  his  song,  and  reeling  it  off  with  a  dogged 
energy  that  sent  the  words  far  through  the  silent 

18 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

forest  and  set  its  echo-heart  athrob.  They  were 
brave  words,  telling  the  brave  old  tale  of  the  woo 
ing  of  Fridtjof  the  Bold ;  perhaps  they  would  have 
charmed  away  his  ill-humor  if  they  had  not  been 
cut  short. 

Parting  like  gold  -  embroidered  tapestries,  two 
yellow-leaved  bushes  a  little  way  ahead  disclosed 
another  courtman  from  the  hunting  train,  a  young 
man  magnificent  in  scarlet  leather  clothes  of  dis 
tinctly  un-Norse  make.  After  a  critical  survey  of 
the  figure  in  deerskin,  he  lifted  the  forefinger  of 
one  gloved  hand, — a  gesture  that  had  upon  the 
forester  the  effect  which  the  scarlet  dress  would 
have  had  upon  a  bull. 

"Fellow,"  he  said  blandly,  "I  have  to  tell  you 
that  your  voice  has  had  the  good  luck  to  please  a 
noble  maiden's  ears.  Follow  me  that  she  may 
gratify  her  curiosity." 

Akin  to  the  motion  of  his  finger  was  a  perpetual 
slight  smile  moulding  his  thin  lips.  The  forester 
took  note  of  that  also,  and  felt  antagonism  become 
a  deep  satisfying  force  within  him.  Coming  slowly 
to  a  halt,  he  picked  his  answer  with  drawling  de 
liberation. 

"  Fellow,  if  you  had  not  the  good  luck  to  be  for 
eign  to  the  forest,  I  would  make  you  unpleasing 
to  a  noble  maiden's  eyes.  As  it  is,  I  have  to  say 
that  to  see  me  following  you  would  be  more  apt 

19 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

to  provoke  curiosity  than  to  gratify  it, — and  you 
may  take  that  as  best  suits  you!" 

The  stranger  took  it  with  the  utmost  quietness, 
observing  as  though  to  himself  that  it  was  surpris 
ing  there  should  still  be  places  where  a  churl 
thought  he  had  the  right  to  choose  when  he  was 
commanded;  but  while  he  was  saying  it  he  was 
stepping  from  the  bushes.  Now  he  drew  his 
sword  from  its  jewelled  sheath. 

The  gleam  which  the  steel  sent  through  the  glade 
was  reflected  in  the  forester's  face.  He  made  cord 
ial  haste  to  pluck  forth  his  hunting-knife. 

Glancing  from  that  short  blade  to  his  own  long 
one,  the  courtman  hesitated  an  instant;  then  he 
laughed  softly  at  himself. 

"It  is  no  lie  about  Norse  habits  that  they  stick 
to  one  like  iron  in  frosty  weather!"  he  murmured. 
"  Almost  I  was  in  danger  of  treating  the  matter  as 
a  combat  between  equals." 

Having  escaped  that  danger,  he  wasted  no  more 
time  on  preliminaries,  but  delivered  his  first  thrust. 
If  his  opponent  had  stood  upon  ceremony,  he  would 
have  been  disabled  by  a  pierced  right  arm. 

Luckily  it.  was  the  school  of  emergency  that  had 
given  the  forester  his  training.  Though  a  smoth 
ered  word  betokened  surprise,  his  instant  leap 
backward  carried  him  lightly  out  of  range,  and 
yet  not  so  far  out  of  reach  but  that  his  knife  was 

20 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

able  to  strike  up  the  other's  point  and  take  ad 
vantage  of  the  opening  to  land  a  stroke  upon  the 
tasselled  breast.  A  buckle  turned  the  blade  away, 
but  the  profanity  of  the  contact  could  not  be  de 
nied.  The  courtman  lowered  his  weapon  for  the 
purpose  of  removing  his  gold-stitched  gloves. 

"  I  see  now  that  I  shall  have  to  let  off  more  of 
your  hot  blood  than  I  thought,"  he  remarked  as 
he  tucked  the  gloves  under  his  belt.  "Since  you 
will  have  it- 
Driving  suddenly  past  the  other's  guard,  he 
drove  his  sword  into  the  deerskin  shoulder, — would 
have  driven  it  through,  indeed,  if  the  bite  of  the 
knife  into  his  wrist  had  not  momentarily  relaxed 
his  grasp. 

The  forester  recovered  his  balance  coolly. 
"It  will  then  be  a  fair  bargain  if  I  let  off  some 
of  your  breath,"  he  returned,  and  straightway  as 
serted  the  one  advantage  he  had  foreseen  to  off 
set  the  difference  in  blade-lengths  by  leading  his 
adversary  a  round  of  gnarled  roots  and  hidden 
hollows  and  tangles  of  creeping  things. 

As  a  trout  knows  the  rapids,  his  feet  knew  the 
snares;  but  to  the  stranger  it  was  like  walking  in 
fetters.  What  with  the  distraction  of  watching 
his  footing  and  the  difficulty  of  aiming,  two  out  of 
every  three  thrusts  went  astray;  while  for  every 
lunge  that  went  home  he  got  a  wound  in  return. 

21 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

Twice  his  foot  twisted  on  a  hidden  stone  and  he 
measured  his  length  on  the  ground,  plastering  pine- 
needles  and  earth  to  every  blood-stain.  Twice  he 
tripped  over  a  root  and  fell  headlong  and  almost 
into  the  arms  of  his  jeering  opponent.  That  the 
combat  was  between  equals,  there  could  now  be  no 
question. 

That  there  could  be  any  doubt  of  his  ultimate 
victory,  however,  did  not  appear  to  enter  into  the 
courtman's  reckoning.  After  each  fall  he  merely 
became  a  little  more  quietly  determined,  came  on 
with  a  little  more  glitter  in  his  ice-blue  eyes.  His 
unshaken  assurance  exasperated  the  forester  at 
last ;  when  he  saw  a  chance  to  end  it,  he  seized  the 
opportunity  promptly. 

At  the  next  lunge,  instead  of  springing  aside  he 
took  advantage  of  a  hollow  behind  him  to  duck 
suddenly,  so  that  the  blade  hissed  like  an  out- 
leaping  flame  above  his  head.  Then,  before  the 
other  could  recover,  he  sprang  upon  him.  Seizing 
his  sword- wrist  in  an  iron  grip,  he  forced  it  aside, 
tore  his  own  right  arm  free  from  the  clutching  fin 
gers,  and  raised  it  to  strike. 

His  arm  rose, — but  it  did  not  fall.  In  the  very 
instant  of  aiming,  a  cloak  flew  between  him  and 
his  mark,  enveloping  him  head  and  shoulders, 
smothering  him  head  and  face.  Muscular  hands 
followed  the  cloak,  pinioning  his  elbows  and  drag- 

22 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ging  him  backward.  Through  the  folds  he  caught 
a  babel  of  exclamations;  above  them  a  girl's  anx 
ious  voice  calling,  "Is  he  wounded?"  and  a  man's 
rough  tones  answering  dryly,  "Only  enough  to 
spot  his  clothes,  Jarl's  daughter." 

Jarl's  daughter!  The  forester  had  left  off  strug 
gling — he  understood  that  it  would  be  foolishness 
in  that  grasp — now  his  wrath  gave  place  to  dis 
gust.  This  was  a  pretty  trick  of  the  Fates,  who  had 
already  snatched  the  fruit  of  victory  from  between 
his  teeth,  to  follow  it  up  by  delivering  him  over 
to  the  upbraidings  of  an  hysterical  girl!  Sullenly 
he  gazed  before  him  when  at  last  they  plucked  off 
the  cloak. 

The  first  thing  he  saw  was  his  little  foster- 
brother  in  his  gay  page's  livery,  just  picking  up 
the  courtman's  plumed  cap;  but  the  sight  did 
not  improve  his  temper  for  he  found  that  the 
boy  avoided  his  glance  of  greeting.  His  brows 
drawing  together,  his  gaze  moved  on  over  the 
picture. 

It  was  a  maiden's  following,  certainly.  The  rug 
ged  men-at-arms  surrounding  him  were  far  out 
numbered  by  the  slim  pages  who  made  a  green 
hedge  around  the  wounded  favorite.  Bright  against 
the  dark  background,  groups  of  maids  and  matrons 
rustled  and  fluttered.  Only  one  figure  in  the 

23 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

scene  had  composure,  a  girl  standing  a  few  paces 
ahead  of  the  others,  erect  and  motionless  as  a 
stone  column  against  tossing  trees.  It  was  her 
stillness  that  drew  the  forester's  attention  to  her 
curiously;  then,  looking,  he  forgot  curiosity,  for 
got  his  recognition  of  her  for  the  Jarl's  daughter, 
felt  only  the  thrill  of  her  beauty. 

Long  of  limb,  long  of  throat,  she  was  nobly  tall, 
her  eyes  but  little  below  the  level  of  his  own.  The 
habit  fitting  close  the  flowing  curves  of  her  body 
trailed  heavily  behind  her,  and  a  velvet  mantle 
dragged  from  jewelled  clasps;  but  her  broad  slop 
ing  shoulders  bore  their  weight  as  lightly  as  her 
proudly  poised  head  held  up  its  great  braids,  hang 
ing  far  down  the  purple  folds  like  cables  of  red 
gold.  No  power  had  the  sight  of  bared  blades  and 
struggling  men  to  deepen  or  pale  the  exquisite 
color  of  her  face,  or  shake  the  pride  of  her  beauti 
ful  mouth.  In  their  high  spirit,  her  clear  gray 
eyes  were  Valkyria's  eyes.  Gazing  at  her,  his 
heart  leaped  in  his  breast;  he  understood,  for  the 
first  time,  why  a  sea-wolf  of  a  Viking  might  lie 
quiet  in  the  net  of  a  woman. 

For  the  first  time,  also,  he  knew  envy  of  his  foe. 
Brushing  aside  the  pages,  the  courtman  advanced 
now,  the  long  end  of  his  mantle  drawn  up  grace 
fully  over  his  shoulder  to  hide  the  stains  of  his 
tunic.  It  was  maddening  to  see  how  fit  he  looked 

24 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

to  bend  before  Brynhild  the  Proud  and  set  to  his 
lips  the  hand  she  gave  him. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  know,  madam,  that  I  am 
pardoned  for  thus  marring  your  pleasure  with 
alarm,"  he  said.  "Scarcely  can  I  be  easy  in  my 
mind  until  I  hear  that." 

To  see  such  favor  as  hers  squandered  on  such 
as  he  was  worse  than  maddening.  She  answered 
most  kindly: 

"  No  man  should  have  a  better  right  to  mar  my 
pleasure  than  you  who  have  so  often  made  it.  And 
it  was  bearing  my  message  that  became  a  misfort 
une  to  you!  Will  you  receive  my  necklace  for  were- 
geld?"  Reminded  by  the  law-term,  she  glanced 
for  the  first  time  towards  the  prisoner,  her  white 
lids  drooping  coldly.  "Let  Visbur  lay  bonds  on 
the  fellow  and  take  him  where  the  lawmen  can 
deal  with  him." 

It  was  not  the  tightening  grip  of  the  men  that 
wrung  words  from  the  forester's  silence ;  it  was  the 
pang  of  standing  ill  with  her  that  caused  him  to 
speak  earnestly. 

"  One  thing  I  wish,  Jarl's  daughter,  and  that  is  that 
you  yourself  would  hear  how  little  I  am  to  blame." 

Again  she  looked  at  him,  this  time  squarely. 

"  You  will  have  no  cause  to  complain  of  the  law 
men's  justice,"  she  said. 

"Then  will  they  judge  me  innocent,  and  how 
25 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

shall  it  be  made  up  to  me  that  I  have  endured  the 
disgrace  of  bonds,  and  been  a  gazing-stock  for  your 
followers?  Be  as  fair  in  your  actions  as  you  are 
fair  in  your  face,  noble  one." 

The  guards  around  gasped,  but  she  did  not  be 
lie  her  Valkyria  eyes.  As  steel  answers  steel  with 
a  spark  they  answered  the  demand,  even  while  her 
proud  mouth  resented  his  boldness  in  every  curve. 
After  a  moment  she  turned  back  where  a  tree  had 
fallen  across  the  glade,  and  seated  herself  upon  the 
mossy  trunk. 

"Will  you  lay  it  upon  Norse  custom  and  not 
upon  me,  my  friend  Olaf ,  if  I  think  it  necessary  to 
grant  the  forester's  request?"  she  asked.  "And 
will  you  support  me  further  by  feigning  that  this 
is  a  law-place  and  telling  me  here  what  he  did  that 
you  disliked?" 

"Is  it  true  that  Norse  custom  is  so  childish?" 
Olaf  queried,  with  rising  shoulders.  Then  as  she 
continued  to  look  at  him  entreatingly,  he  yielded, 
smiling,  to  come  forward  with  playful  ceremony 
and  take  up  his  stand  before  her. 

While  he  was  bowing,  however,  one  of  the  guards 
— a  burly  ruddy-faced  fellow — entered  into  the  con 
versation,  after  the  off-hand  manner  of  Northern 
retainers.  Hemming  loudly,  he  held  up  the  horn- 
handled  knife  which  he  had  taken  from  the  for 
ester's  unresisting  hold. 

26 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"This  can  be  told  about  the  youth,  Jarl's 
daughter,"  he  said,  "that  he  is  no  better  than  a 
crazy  Berserker.  Behold  with  what  a  cheese-cut 
ter  he  met  the  flail  of  Thorgrim's  son!" 

"  And  not  alone  met,  but  also  mastered  the  flail!" 
a  second  guard  chuckled;  while  a  third,  their 
grizzled  old  leader,  vented  a  gruff  laugh  and  openly 
patted  his  prisoner  on  the  back. 

"  I  will  hang  you  if  Starkad's  daughter  decides 
that  way,"  he  declared,  "but  you  may  hang  me  if 
I  do  not  tell  afterwards  that  you  were  a  young 
hawk!"  Whereupon  a  rumble  of  acquiescence 
came  from  every  point  where  a  brass  helmet 
gleamed  amid  the  russet  leaves. 

At  any  other  time  the  forester  might  have  shown 
appreciation  of  their  friendliness,  but  just  now  it 
was  the  favor  of  the  purple-robed  judge  upon  which 
his  heart  was  set.  The  silver-trunked  birches  be 
hind  her  were  not  more  impassive  than  her  finely 
chiselled  face,  as  she  ignored  all  but  the  man  she 
had  addressed. 

When  quiet  was  entirely  restored,  Olaf  spoke 
lightly:  "Most  gentle  law -giver,  if  it  is  through 
Norse  eyes  that  we  must  look,  I  have  to  tell  you 
that  the  churl  is  in  no  way  to  blame.  That  he 
should  show  rudeness  is  a  result  to  be  expected 
from  the  barbarity  in  the  land.  That  I  who  am 
French-bred  should  have  a  wish  to  civilize  him 
3  27 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

was  no  less  to  be  expected.  As  has  been  pointed 
out,  he  had  no  more  than  a  hunting-knife;  while 
my  feet  are  more  used  to  paved  roads  than  to  fox- 
trails.  It  made  a  merry  game,  altogether  too 
merry  to  fall  to  the  ground  here.  But  for  Norse 
law,  fairest  law-woman,  there  is  no  handle  to  take 
hold  of.  Turn  him  loose,  and  forget  that  so  un 
worthy  a  happening  ever  quickened  your  fragrant 
breath."  He  ended  with  another  bow,  his  last 
words  almost  lost  amid  the  applauding  murmurs 
of  the  women  and  the  pages. 

With  an  unconscious  gesture  of  relief,  the  Jarl's 
daughter  rose  quickly. 

"Now  as  always,  your  broad-mindedness  puts 
all  other  Norsemen  to  shame,"  she  said.  "For 
taking  it  in  this  way  and  making  my  task  easy,  I 
thank  you  much."  A  second  time  she  extended 
her  hand  to  him,  while  over  her  shoulder  she  spoke 
coldly  to  the  prisoner:  "I  give  you  peace,  woods 
man.  Go  your  way." 

"Come  behind  the  bushes  and  tell  us  more 
news  about  this  fight,"  the  burly  man-at-arms 
muttered  in  the  forester's  ear  as  he  gave  him  back 
his  hunting-knife. 

Pretending  to  hustle  him  along,  they  accom 
panied  him  eagerly,  the  gentlewomen  making  a 
great  show  of  getting  out  of  his  path  as  out  of  the 
way  of  a  bear  unchained.  But  after  he  had  made 

28 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

a  dozen  paces,  the  forester  stopped,  shook  them  off 
and  turned  back  to  Brynhild  the  Proud. 

"This  I  will  beg  of  you,  Jarl's  daughter,"  he 
said,  "that  you  will  tell  me  why  you  wanted  to 
see  me." 

The  guards  gave  him  admonishing  nudges.  The 
prettiest  of  the  veil-bound  matrons  uttered  a  little 
scream  of  derisive  laughter.  The  Jarl's  daughter 
turned  haughtily. 

Of  her  alone  he  seemed  to  be  conscious  as  he 
advanced.  "You  admit  that  I  am  not  blame 
worthy,  yet  I  see  that  I  have  your  dislike.  Is  it 
because  I  appear  to  you  no  better  than  a  savage? 
I  beg  you  to  believe  that  I  am  not  one.  I  beg  you 
to  believe  that  if  I  had  known  it  was  you  who 
wanted  me,  I  would  have  been  as  glad  in  coming 
to  you  as  the  lark  in  rising  to  the  sun." 

Her  gaze  moving  up  and  down  between  his 
moccasins  and  his  mane  of  sun-burnished  hair,  she 
studied  him  wonderingly;  but  she  was  bred  too 
high  to  flout  him.  She  said,  at  last,  with  an  in 
clination  of  her  head: 

"I  owe  you  thanks  for  good -will.  I  will  also 
confess  that  I  was  made  curious  by  the  Song  of 
Fridtjof  you  were  singing.  You  are  the  forester — • 
are  you  not — whom  men  call  the  Songsmith?  I 
have  heard  my  brother  tell  of  hearing  you  sing  once, 
as  he  happened  to  be  passing  a  hunter's  cabin.  I 

29 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

wished  to  ask  why  you  sang  words  about  Fridtjof 
that  my  father's  minstrels  do  not  sing." 

"That,  and  more,  I  will  tell  you,"  he  answered. 
"The  end  of  the  song,  I  made  out  of  my  own 
imaginings.  In  the  unsettled  places  where  I  live, 
one  hears  only  those  verses  which  the  old  people 
brought  over  the  ocean  under  the  hatches  of  mem 
ory.  I  got  a  habit  of  finishing  out  such  fragments 
in  the  way  I  thought  likeliest  to  be  right.  From 
that  my  nickname  sprang.  My  foster-father,  who 
had  worked  at  a  forge  in  his  youth,  said  that  all 
the  skalds  he  had  met  with  were  like  traders,  who 
do  no  more  than  pass  on  what  other  men  have 
made ;  but  that  a  singer  who  melts  scraps  together 
and  hammers  them  out  in  new  shapes  is  a  song- 
smith." 

The  figure  appealed  to  the  guardsmen,  drawing 
forth  laughter  and  compliment;  but  that  to  the 
Songsmith  was  nothing  beside  the  fact  that  in  the 
expression  of  their  mistress  curiosity  had  deepened 
to  interest. 

"Why,  that  is  no  small  thing  to  do!"  she  said. 
"Times  out  of  number,  when  I  have  been  listening 
to  my  father's  skald,  I  have  wished  that  he  could 
make  an  ending  which  would  be  new  even  if  it 
were  untrue,  so  that  there  might  be  something  to 
keep  awake  for." 

Calmly  oblivious  to  maidens'  frowns  and  ma- 

* 

30 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Irons'  murmurs,  she  let  herself  sink  again  upon 
the  tree-trunk,  and  made  him  a  sign  to  come 
nearer. 

"  I  want  to  know  why  you  have  not  brought  such 
an  accomplishment  to  market?"  she  inquired. 
"Where  is  your  home?" 

"It  is  not  so  easy  to  tell  that,  Jarl's  daughter, 
since  it  is  unlikely  that  you  have  ever  heard  of 
Freya's  Tower.  But  it  stands  south  of  here,  on 
an  island  which  a  bridge  links  to  this— 

For  the  first  time,  one  of  the  court-maidens  drew 
near, — a  slender  spray  of  a  girl,  whose  face  was  a 
pink  bud  peeping  from  a  wood  of  brown  hair. 

"/  have  heard  of  it!"  she  cried,  eagerly.  "The 
skalds  are  not  so  bold  as  to  sing  songs  about  it; 
but  no  maiden  but  knows  how  the  Swedish  Viking 
Rolf  stole  King  Hildebrand's  daughter  out  of  her 
father's  court  in  Norway,  and  brought  her  to 
these  shores  and  built  her  a  bower  and — " 

Her  impulse  would  have  carried  her  still  further 
if  the  Jarl's  daughter  had  not  laid  a  light  hand  on 
her  arm. 

"I  also  know  of  the  place,"  Brynhild  said.  "Is 
it  there  you  live  ?  A  band  of  Rolf's  comrades  still 
live  there,  I  have  been  told — Yet  are  you  too  young 
to  have  place  among  them !  Will  you  tell  me  your 
name  and  kin?" 

As  he  started  to  reply,  the  Songsmith's  glance 
31 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

fell  upon  the  handsome  little  page  who  had  re 
fused  to  recognize  him,  and  who  had  now  taken  ad 
vantage  of  the  delay  to  approach  Olaf  the  French 
and  set  about  removing  the  debris  of  dead  leaves 
from  his  gold  fringes.  The  forester's  dark  eyes 
gave  out  a  glint  of  mischief. 

"Willingly — and  more  than  that — Jarl's  daugh 
ter,"  he  answered.  "I  will  have  one  of  your 
own  train  name  me  to  you,  so  that  you  may  know 
it  is  well  done."  Stepping  aside,  he  touched  the 
boy  on  the  shoulder.  "  Eric,  look  up  here  and  tell 
your  mistress  my  name  and  kin." 

In  a  panic  the  youngster  whirled,  denial  trem 
bling  on  his  tongue.  Then  he  met  the  unswerving 
gaze  from  under  the  level  brows;  his  eyes  fell  and 
his  color  rose.  Seemingly  without  his  consent, 
his  lips  formed  the  words: 

"  Randvar  is  his  name ;  and  he  is  the  son  of  Rolf 
and  Freya,  King  Hildebrand's  daughter." 

Brynhild  rose  from  her  seat.  "The  son  of  King 
Hildebrand's  daughter!"  she  repeated,  and  all  her 
gentlewomen  breathed  it  after  her. 

But  it  was  Rolf's  name  that  the  guardsmen 
echoed,  closing  in  upon  Rolf's  son  to  shake  his 
hand  and  his  shoulder. 

"Rolf  the  Viking!  A  well-known  name  have 
you!" 

" Now  he  was  my  shipmate  for  five  years!" 
32 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"  My  father  harried  England  with  him— 

"A  better  warrior  never  fed  the  ravens!" 

"Small  wonder  his  son  measured  a  knife 
against — 

"  I  take  credit  upon  myself  that  I  was  the  first 
to  clap  you  on  the  shoulder!" 

But  between  the  brass  helmets  Rolf's  son  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  Jarl's  daughter,  and  made  the 
discovery  that  in  turning  his  low  rank  into  a  high 
one  he  had  but  turned  the  cheek  of  his  offence. 
She  said,  when  she  could  make  herself  heard: 

"There  seems  to  me  to  be  two  sides  to  this  mat 
ter.  For  a  churl  to  bear  such  a  bold  look  beneath 
his  brows  would  be  bad  enough,  but  I  find  it  far 
worse  that  a  man  of  high  birth  should  form  him 
self  after  the  manner  of  savages.  Have  you  no 
regard  for  your  King's  blood?"  Again  her  glance 
took  stock  of  his  deerskin  husk  and  his  untrimmed 
hair. 

That  she  could  not  also  take  stock  of  the  brand 
of  temper  with  which  the  King  and  the  Viking  had 
bequested  him,  was  shown  by  the  fact  that,  even 
more  than  her  words,  her  look  was  a  challenge.  In 
the  fillip  of  a  finger  perversity  possessed  him,  and 
moved  him  to  answer : 

"  If  my  King's  blood  cannot  show  itself  through 
a  layer  of  deerskin,  daughter  of  jarls,  I  hold  it  for 
a  spring  that  is  run  dry." 

33 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

A  wrinkle  of  displeasure  marred  the  satin  smooth 
ness  of  her  forehead.  "That  speech  would  make 
your  fortune  with  my  brother.  Pray  keep  such 
word-flourishes  for  him.  I  would  show  you  honor 
if  I  might.  This  empty  forest  life  is  unbecoming 
a  man  of  your  birth.  You  are  welcome  to  join 
my  following  and  make  new  song-endings  in  my 
household,  if  you  like." 

His  voice  was  more  indifferent  than  formality 
prescribed,  his  bow  less  deep. 

"With  all  thankfulness,  I  should  not  like  it," 
he  answered. 

Her  frown  was  more  than  a  wrinkle  as  she  asked 
him,  "Why  not?" 

"  I  do  not  lack  reasons.  One  is  that  I  think  my 
life  more  full  than  yours,  that  is  laid  out  in  straight 
lines  like  an  old  woman's  herb-garden  and  weeded 
of  all  excitement.  Another  is  that  I  do  not  think 
a  man  adds  any  honor  to  himself  by  following  a 
woman." 

Again  she  was  the  only  quiet  figure  amid  a 
hubbub,  the  women  crying  out,  the  guards  them 
selves  growling  remonstrance.  She  stood  queen- 
fully  quiet,  though  her  face  blazed. 

"Even  churls  are  apt  to  behave  with  respect 
towards  me,"  she  said,  and  the  contempt  in  her 
voice  was  keen  enough  to  draw  blood  in  his  cheeks. 
He  answered  in  kind. 

34 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"  I  behave  with  respect  when  I  give  you  the 
truth.  Are  lies  more  to  your  mind?" 

The  tumult  passed  into  the  more  alarming  ac 
companiment  of  silence.  The  flash  of  her  steel- 
gray  eyes  was  as  though  they  had  drawn  swords. 
From  weapon  -  play  Rolf's  son  had  never  turned 
back;  he  faced  her  readily,  his  look  giving  back 
whatever  it  received. 

So  they  fronted  each  other  until  there  was 
kindled  in  Brynhild's  face  a  kind  of  fury,  the  rage 
of  a  Valkyria  upon  encountering  her  match.  Just 
in  time,  the  words  on  her  lips  were  checked.  Like 
a  pebble  into  a  pool,  a  page's  voice  fell  upon  the 
pause. 

"Ingolf  comes  seeking  you,  Jarl's  daughter." 

The  spell  was  shattered.  In  less  time  than  it 
took  the  Songsmith  to  shift  his  weight,  Brynhild 
had  shifted  her  expression,  recalled  to  her  wonted 
world.  Women  and  pages  started  up  like  a  covey 
of  impatient  birds.  With  his  blandest  smile,  Olaf 
stepped  forward  and  claimed  his  own. 

"  In  all  likelihood,  madam,  the  messenger  brings 
word  that  your  noble  father  is  ready  to  take  his 
meal,  and  seeks  you  at  the  spot  where  he  left  you. 
Will  you  allow  me  so  much  happiness?"  Baring 
his  head,  he  extended  his  hand. 

She  laid  hers  upon  it  immediately,  motioning 
Eric  to  take  up  the  grape-purple  train.  All  at 

35 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

once  she  seemed  to  the  forester  to  have  withdrawn 
herself  an  immeasurable  distance  beyond  his  ken. 
Across  the  space  her  voice  came  to  him  coldly. 

"  I  would  have  shown  you  friendliness,  Freya's 
son,  but  it  may  be  that  this  way  is  better.  The 
truth  grows  in  me  that  you  would  hardly  know 
how  to  behave  in  a  court.  It  is  likely  you  have 
chosen  your  life  wisely.  I  wish  you  good  luck  in 
it,  and  bid  you  farewell." 

She  bent  her  head;  her  women  dropped  him 
awe-struck  courtesies.  Under  cover  of  a  salute, 
Olaf's  hard  blue  eyes  held  him  long  enough  to  re 
mind  him  that  their  quarrel  was  by  no  means  at 
an  end.  Then,  leaning  on  the  courtman's  arm,  the 
Jarl's  daughter  turned  and  left,  nor  looked  back, 
though  Rolf's  son  watched  as  long  as  he  could 
catch  any  gleam  of  her  bright  hair. 

When  the  band  had  crossed  the  glade  and  gained 
the  trees,  they  met  the  helmeted  figure;  and  fol 
lowing  the  instant  of  meeting,  it  seemed  to  the 
forester  that  the  breeze  brought  him  a  sound  of 
shrieks.  But  whatever  their  cause,  it  did  not 
delay  the  departure.  Soon  the  many-colored 
troop  had  become  blended  with  the  many-colored 
leaves,  and  forest  solitude  closed  again  around 
him. 


Ill 

"Nose  is  next  of  kin  to  eyes" 

— Northern  saying. 

7ITH  signs  of  the  day's    ruffling  in 
fluence   still   visible    at    his    mouth- 
corners,    Randvar,    Rolf's    son,    put 
aside  the  cables  of  wild  grape-vine 
ithat  drooped  curtain-like  over  the  end 
of  the  home- trail,  and  paused  to  look  before  him. 
"  Poor  and  mean  must  this  have  seemed  in  my 
mother's  sight,"  he  mused. 

A  few  steps  ahead  the  path  broadened  into  an 
open  grassy  space,  in  whose  middle  rose  a  low 
round  tower,  touched  by  the  last  rays  of  the  setting 
sun.  Built  of  gray  stones  held  together  by  gray 
mortar,  it  stood  out  coldly  amid  the  green  and 
garnet  and  golden  maples  that  walled  it  round; 
and  among  branching  trees  and  wreathing  vines 
its  outline  was  as  stark  as  the  outline  of  an  Iceland 
rock.  No  spire  sprouted  from  its  flat  top;  no 
balconies  rounded  out  beneath  the  windows  of 
its  upper  story,  and  its  lower  part  was  no  more 
than  eight  gray  pillars  standing  in  a  circle.  On 

37 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

one  of  them  now  a  tangle  of  fish-nets  was  hanging ; 
against  another  leaned  a  frame  on  which  a  wild-cat 
skin  had  been  stretched  to  dry,  and  before  a  third 
stood  a  herring-keg  and  a  barrel  of  wild-grape  wine. 
Between  the  pillars,  eight  wide  archways  gave 
plain  view  into  the  round  ground-room,  in  whose 
centre  a  fire  was  burning  under  a  kettle.  A  flaxen- 
haired  girl  moved  back  and  forth  before  the  fire, 
and  under  one  of  the  arches  a  tall,  muscular  woman 
stood  looking  out  and  wiping  her  heated  face  upon 
her  homespun  apron. 

Understanding  that  her  watch  was  for  him, 
Randvar  raised  his  hand  in  greeting;  but  his  gaze 
remained  on  the  small  deep-set  window  high  up 
on  the  Tower's  seaward  side,  where  he  had  often 
seen  his  mother's  face  looking  out  over  the  green 
wastes  of  trees  and  the  blue  wastes  of  water  that 
stretched  between  her  and  the  home  she  had  left. 
It  seemed  to  him  now  that  he  could  see  her  again, 
flower-fair  and  crowned  with  hair  like  winter's  pale 
sunshine.  The  contrast  between  her  delicacy  and 
the  rough  setting  came  home  to  him  with  new  force. 
In  the  bubbling  caldron  of  his  mind,  awe  came  up 
permost. 

"It  was  a  wondrous  thing,  my  mother's  love," 
he  murmured  as  he  moved  slowly  forward. 

The  greeting  of  the  woman  in  the  archway 
brought  him  back  to  the  present.  She  was  a 

38 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

weather-beaten  woman,  almost  as  severe  in  out 
line  as  the  Tower  itself,  and  with  but  little  more 
color;  yet  proof  remained  that  she  had  once  been 
as  freshly  blooming  as  her  daughter,  and  her  work- 
roughened  hand  had  a  gentle  touch  as  she  laid  it 
on  his  arm.  She  spoke  quickly,  regarding  him 
with  keen  eyes. 

"There  is  a  new  stain  on  your  kirtle,  foster-son, 
and  a  cut  in  the  middle  of  it.  What  have  you 
been  doing  to  yourself?"  As  she  talked,  she  was 
unfastening  a  buckle,  and  now  laid  bare  his  blood- 
soaked  shirt. 

He  looked  down  at  it  with  surprised  recognition. 
"Did  the  courtman  do  all  that?  I  had  altogether 
forgotten  it." 

"Courtman!  Have  you  seen  someone  from  the 
Jarl's  Town  ?"  The  girl  caught  him  up  and  left  her 
broth-stirring  eagerly,  but  her  mother  motioned  her 
away. 

"Go  up  and  get  one  of  his  linen  shirts  out  of 
my  chest,  and  fetch  down  the  ointment,"  she 
ordered  her;  then  to  her  foster-son:  "Bring  in  the 
water-pail  and  pull  off  those  things  and  sit  down 
here.  Some  day  your  carelessness  will  bring  it 
to  pass  that  you  bleed  to  death,  and  it  will  not  be 
a  brave  end,  but  a  foolish  one." 

"  None  the  less  is  it  pleasant  to  realize  what  state 
the  French  One's  fine  clothes  must  be  in,"  Rand- 

39 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

var  chuckled,  as  he  allowed  himself  to  be  pushed 
down  on  a  bench  by  the  fire. 

The  girl,  returning  headlong  down  the  ladder- 
like  stairs,  repeated  her  entreaty  for  news ;  so  while 
his  foster-mother  washed  his  wound,  and  his  foster- 
sister  rolled  bandages  for  him,  he  related  his  ad 
venture. 

They  listened  without  interruption  until  he 
came  to  the  appearance  of  Brynhild  and  her  fol 
lowing,  when  both  stayed  their  hands  to  question 
him  eagerly. 

"Was  Eric  with  her?" 

"How  did  he  look?" 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Did  he  send  us  a  message?" 

The  first  warm  color  came  into  the  cheeks  of 
Erna,  the  woman ;  her  eyes  shone  hungrily. 

Regarding  her,  her  foster-son  began  deliberately 
to  parry.  "What  did  he  say?  Snowfrid,  you  are 
a  simpleton!  Do  you  suppose  that  folks  gabble 
like  wild  turkeys  while  a  noblewoman  and  her 
frippery  are  standing  around?  As  for  his  looks, 
I  can  tell  you  that  a  red-headed  woodpecker  would 
get  bashful  beside  him,  all  in  green  cloth  from  top 
to  toe,  with  his  hair  cut  like  the  Jarl's.  I  did  not 
wonder  at  all  that  the  maiden  wanted  him  for  a 
page  only  from  seeing  him  pick  up  her  necklace  in 
the  road." 

40 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

The  thin  lips  of  Eric's  mother  relaxed  uncon 
sciously  into  a  smile,  as  her  hands  took  up  the  last 
bandage;  but  Eric's  sister  gave  her  flaxen  braids 
a  toss. 

"I  think  he  would  not  have  been  hindered  from 
asking  about  us  if  he  had  wished,"  she  said.  "It 
is  my  belief  that  the  young  one  is  puffed  up  with 
pride.  Three  times  has  the  trading-ship  on  which 
he  went  up  to  see  the  wonders  of  the  Town  been 
back  without  bringing  him  for  so  much  as  a  visit. 
It  is  my  belief  that  he  was  ashamed  to  speak  to 
Rand—  She  was  startled  into  swallowing  the 
rest  of  the  word  by  the  sharpness  with  which  Erna 
turned  upon  her. 

"I  know  that  he  was  not,"  his  mother  said, 
sternly.  "  That  his  wits  get  dizzy  from  living  with 
high  people  may  well  be.  I  was  foolish  myself  about 
court  ways  when  I  came  to  be  bowermaid  to  King 
Hildebrand's  daughter;  but  that  he  should  ever 
fall  off  so  much  as  to  be  ungrateful  is  not  likely. 
I  know  that  he  remembered  what  is  due  to  Freya's 
son,  and  greeted  him  with  respect." 

Randvar's  face  was  hidden  by  the  shirt  he  was 
drawing  on,  but  from  its  linen  depths  he  chuckled. 

"Never  fear  but  what  he  greeted  me!  And 
named  me  to  his  mistress  besides,  else  might  she 
have  thought  me  some  shaggy  beast." 

"There!"  said  Erna;  and  Snowfrid,  somewhat 
41 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

abashed,  turned  her  attention  to  dishing  up  the 
evening  meal  of  venison  broth  and  bread. 

After  the  meal  was  under  way,  however,  it  oc 
curred  to  her  to  ask  concerning  the  appearance  of 
Brynhild  the  Proud. 

.The  power  which  the  mere  mention  of  that 
name  had  to  upset  his  peace  of  mind  amazed 
Randvar,  even  while  he  curtly  denied  any  recol 
lection  of  her  whatever.  It  was  a  relief  when  at 
last  eating  was  over,  and  Snowfrid  had  gone  off 
to  carry  a  jug  of  broth  to  the  cabinful  of  old  men, 
who  were  all  that  was  left  of  Rolf's  lusty  crew. 
Erna  took  up  her  knitting,  then,  and  retired  into 
her  wonted  silence  and  to  her  wonted  seat  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fire;  and  he  was  free  to  stretch 
himself  upon  the  floor  of  cedar  boughs,  and  yield 
unreservedly  to  the  strange  turmoil  of  his  thoughts. 

Gazing  out  where  the  moon  was  steering  be 
tween  white  cloud  -  reefs  towards  the  open  blue, 
he  spoke  dreamily:  "Foster-mother,  you  knew  the 
turns  of  Freya's  mind  as  a  forester  knows  his 
home- trail — tell  me  how  she  took  this  life  here." 

Without  lessening  the  click  of  her  needles,  Erna 
glanced  over  at  him.  "  I  suppose  you  were  made 
curious  by  seeing  for  the  first  time  what  kind  of 
things  a  high-born  maiden  is  accustomed  to.  It  is 
the  truth,  however,  that  Freya  took  it  well.  Out 
of  everything  she  made  a  jest.  She  used  to  look 

42 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

at  the  leaf-walls  around  the  Tower,  and  say  that 
no  queen  had  such  an  elf -woven  tapestry,  or 
changed  her  hangings  so  often.  She  was  always 
smiling." 

"Her  lips  were  always  smiling,"  Randvar  said 
doubtfully,  "but  her  eyes?  It  may  be  that  I  do 
not  remember  aright,  since  I  was  but  a  child  in 
age  when  she  died,  yet  it  seems  to  me  now  that 
her  eyes  were  always  sorrowful." 

To  that,  Freya's  bowerwoman  made  no  answer. 
The  pause  lasted  so  long  unbroken  by  anything 
save  the  rattling  of  her  wooden  needles  and  the 
chirping  of  the  crickets  under  the  stone  hearth 
that  presently  her  foster-son  threw  a  twig  at  her. 

"Wake  up,  foster-mother!  Are  you  going  to 
have  a  weird  spell,  that  you  drowse  and  do  not 
hear  me?" 

"Do  your  words  need  an  answer,  foster-son?" 
Erna  returned.  "As  well  as  I,  you  should  know 
that  Freya's  nature  was  not  such  that  she  could 
be  altogether  happy  in  a  life  that  sprang  from  the 
death  of  her  kin." 

"I  had  forgotten  that,"  Randvar  admitted. 

She  looked  at  him  again  across  the  fire.  "This 
is  where  you  show  Rolf's  breed.  I  think  he  never 
even  guessed  it.  Yet  always  the  memory  that 
he  was  the  slayer  of  her  father  lay  between  them 
like  a  blade  that  no  tenderness  could  sheathe.  She 
4  43 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

loved  him  in  spite  of  it,  but  I  speak  no  more  than 
the  truth  when  I  say  that  it  was  the  effort  of  doing 
so  which  wore  her  out  before  half  her  life  was  lived." 

Supporting  himself  on  his  hand,  Rolf's  son  sat 
up  and  gazed  at  her  earnestly.  "The  strange 
wonder  is  that  she  could  feel  any  love  towards  him ! 
Until  to-day,  what  I  could  not  get  through  my 
head  was  how  my  father  could  gentle  himself  to 
so  weak  a  thing  as  a  woman;  but  now  I  regard  it 
as  the  greatest  wonder  that  so  proud  and  fine  and 
wonderful  a  thing  as  a  high-born  maiden  should 
give  herself  to  a  rough-minded  brawling— 

"You  need  not  take  it  upon  yourself  to  speak 
in  that  manner  of  Rolf,"  Erna  interrupted  him 
with  some  sternness.  "  All  the  fineness  that  was  pos 
sible  to  his  nature  he  gave  her.  For  Freya,  he  who 
had  never  handled  aught  but  a  sword,  toiled  and 
sweat  like  a  thrall  to  build  this  Tower ;  and  after 
wards  he  made  his  drinking-bouts  as  mild  as  a 
woman's,  lest  she  be  touched  with  fear.  And  when 
she  died,  he  slew  himself  from  grief,  as  not  many 
men  have  done  before  him.  It  is  true  that  your 
mind  is  higher  than  his,  through  having  her  blood 
in  your  veins;  but  enough  of  his  rough  temper  is 
in  you,  and  his  heedlessness  about  clothes  and 
polite  ways,  to  make  any  girl  but  a  forest-bred 
wench  like  Snowfrid  turn  her  eyes  from  you  as 
from  a  bear." 

44 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

Wincing,  Randvar  dropped  again  to  his  elbow, 
averted  his  crimsoning  face  from  the  firelight.  It 
came  as  a  welcome  diversion  that  at  that  moment 
Snowfrid's  voice  was  heard  out  in  the  darkness. 

But  Snowfrid's  half  -  frightened  giggle,  as  she 
answered  the  questions  of  some  one  coming  after 
her,  was  a  surprise.  It  was  not  after  that  fashion 
that  she  conversed  with  Lame  Farsek  or  his  half- 
dozen  decrepit  old  mates.  Her  mother  and  her 
foster-brother  bestirred  themselves  to  look  out. 

Erna's  surprise  was  not  lessened  to  see  her 
daughter  emerge  from  the  bush-shadows  followed 
by  a  strapping  fellow  in  the  brass  helmet  and 
leather  clothes  of  the  Jarl's  guard;  and  Randvar's 
astonishment  increased  as  he  recognized  in  the 
visitor  the  guardsman  who  had  first  spoken  up 
for  him  in  his  adventure  with  Olaf  and  the  Jarl's 
daughter.  While  Erna  rose  hastily,  smoothing 
down  her  apron,  he  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  thump 
ing  heart.  If  by  any  possibility  Brynhild  should 
have  sent  him  a  message! 

Even  more  than  in  the  morning,  the  man-at- 
arms  looked  the  soul  of  bluff  good-fellowship  as 
Snowfrid  led  him  up  to  them,  naming  him  as 
Bolverk  of  the  Jarl's  guard,  and  explaining  stam- 
meringly  that  she  had  found  him  beating  about  in 
a  berry- tangle  in  search  of  the  path.  He  added  a 
wink  for  her  to  his  jovial  recognition  of  the  Song- 

45 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

smith,  vowed  that  if  the  soldiers  of  the  Jarl's  Town 
had  but  dreamed  to  what  that  path  led,  it  would 
have  been  beaten  broad  enough  to  need  no  hunt- 
.  ing  for.  Snowfrid  relapsed  into  a  blushing  ex 
amination  of  her  braids  which  struck  her  foster- 
brother  as  particularly  ill-timed  and  foolish.  He 
said  with  impatient  politeness : 

"It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  path  failed  your 
need,  Guardsman  Bolverk,  for  it  must  needs  be 
urgent  to  bring  you  here  at  this  hour." 

The  guardsman  made  an  effort  to  pull  his  round 
face  to  a  solemn  length.  "Certainly  it  is  no  light 
errand  that  keeps  me  abroad,  though  my  being 
here  springs  from  a  whim  of  Helvin,  Jarl's  son— 
I  should  say,  Helvin  Jarl,  for  Starkad,  his  father, 
is  dead.  Saints  grant  him  as  much  rest  as  he  will 
accept  of!" 

After  the  manner  of  people  hearing  news,  all 
three  cried  the  word  after  him,  "Dead!"  Then 
Erna  murmured,  "Thus  the  old  leaves  drop  off, 
one  by  one!"  And  Snowfrid  cried  impulsively: 
"Now  will  the  young  man  take  some  comfort?" 
And  Randvar  smote  his  knee. 

"  No  longer  ago  than  this  morning  was  I  talking 
about  Helvin,  and  how  his  father's  death  would 
but  free  him  from  one  trap  to  spring  another  on 
him." 

Bolverk's  ruddy  face  relaxed  into   its   wonted 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

curves.  "So  you  all  know  what  manner  of  man 
he  was?  Then  I  need  not  pretend  to  shed  tears 
for  him,  though  I  should  think  it  sinful  to  wish 
any  but  an  enemy  such  a  death." 

Even  while  they  drew  near  together,  the  women 
questioned  him  with  their  eyes.  Randvar  put  it 
into  words. 

"  In  what  manner  did  he  come  to  his  death?  I 
saw  him  ride  past  to  the  hunt, — I  suppose  it  was 
caused  by  a  fall  from  his  horse?" 

The  guardsman  shook  his  head  ponderously. 
"No  such  quiet  end  for  Starkad  the  Berserker. 
One  of  the  hunting-dogs  sprang  on  him  and  tore 
his  throat  to  pieces.  Ingolf  brought  the  tidings 
just  after  we  parted  from  you.  The  place  where 
it  happened  was  on  the  brink  of  as  hideous  a  pond 
as  a  bad  dream  ever  painted.  I  went  and  looked  at 
it  afterwards.  I  give  you  my  word  that  the  water 
was  as  black  as — 

"The  Black  Pool!"  cried  Erna  and  Snowfrid 
together.  Randvar  had  become  as  motionless  as 
the  bench  on  which  his  foot  was  resting. 

Bolverk  nodded.  "Naught  else  should  it  be 
called ;  any  dead  branch  sticking  out  of  it  gets  the 
look  of  a  bleached  bone.  You  may  imagine  what 
a  sight  it  was  to  come  upon, — Starkad  sprawling 
on  the  brink,  and  Helvin  leaning  against  a  tree, 
more  white  than  a  halter-corpse,  except— 

47 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"Helvin!"  This  time  the  echo  came  from 
Randvar. 

Drawing  a  step  nearer,  Bolverk  lowered  his 
voice. 

"  I  will  not  be  so  mean  as  to  draw  the  cup  back 
after  you  have  had  one  swallow.  Only  I  ask  you 
to  forget  who  brought  the  tidings  hither.  The 
hound  was  Kelvin's.  He  had  taken  it  out  of  the 
pack  and  kept  it  with  him  because  of  a  wound  in 
its  foot,  and  it  is  thought  that  it  did  not  attack 
the  Jarl  without  cause.  Father  and  son  had  many 
words  about  something  before  they  set  forth  this 
morning.  When  Helvin  dashed  ahead  by  him 
self,  the  Jarl  sent  men  after  him  to  fetch  him  back. 
And  when  at  last  they  came  to  the  point  where  the 
party  broke  up,  and  the  women  went  aside  to  the 
waiting-place  and  each  man  struck  out  for  him 
self,  Starkad  forced  Helvin  to  ride  apart  with  him, 
though  it  was  seen  by  every  one  that  the  young 
man  had  the  greatest  dread  of  accompanying  him. 
What  passed  between  them  Helvin  does  not  tell, 
and  no  one  dares  ask,  but  it  is  guessed  that  Starkad 
worked  himself  into  a  Berserk  rage  and  fell  upon 
him—" 

"Odin!"  gasped  Erna,  and  at  the  same  time 
crossed  herself. 

"And  that  the  dog  broke  loose  to  protect  its 
master.  And  many  believe  that  the  taste  of  blood 

48 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

maddened  it  so  that  it  went  so  far  as  to  attack 
Helvin  when  he  dragged  it  off  the  Jarl,  for  the 
claws  had  torn  the  silver  lace  on  his  sleeves,  and 
one  of  the  proofs  that  he  must  have  been  grappling 
with  it  when  he  slew  it  is  that  his  kirtle  is  all  one 
gore  of  blood—  What  do  you  say?" 

But  Randvar  would  not  repeat  the  curse  that 
had  been  wrung  from  him;  and  Bolverk,  encoun 
tering  Snowfrid's  horrified  gaze,  became  diverted 
by  the  amiable  desire  to  recall  her  blushing  smile. 

"And  that,"  he  went  on,  "is  the  beginning  of 
the  reason  why  this  bright- haired  maiden  of  victory 
found  me  battling  with  thorns  and  led  me  to  Val 
halla.  When  a  move  was  made  to  go  back  to  the 
Town,  Helvin  seemed  to  come  crazy  out  of  his 
black  silence.  He  vowed  that  he  would  have  one 
night  of  freedom  before  the  rule  came  on  him,  and 
forbade  any  to  follow,  and  broke  from  us  into  the 
forest — It  is  likely  you  know,  also,  that  he  has 
dreaded  the  rule  more  than  most  men  dread  Hel! 
But  old  Mord,  who  was  the  first  of  Starkad's  ad 
vice-givers,  counselled  us  to  follow  at  a  distance, 
that  we  might  be  within  call  in  case  danger  threat 
ened  him  from  Skraellings  or  other  wild  animals. 
In  the  moonlight  we  kept  him  in  sight  almost  to 
the  head  of  your  Island,  but  there  it  happened  that 
we  lost  him.  The  rest  declared  that  he  had  turned 
aside,  and  I  declared  that  he  had  not ;  so  I  set  out 

49 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

alone,  and  finding  so  plain  a  path,  kept  on  out  of 
adventuresomeness.  It  is  possible  that  I  shall  have 
to  stand  some  banter,  and  yet  I  cannot  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  be  sorry  about  my  blunder."  Again  he 
winked  at  Snowfrid  over  the  huge  fist  caressing 
his  yellow  mustache,  then  drew  himself  up  with 
a  prodigious  sigh.  "  My  one  regret  is  that  I  must 
now  return  to  my  duty.  Will  you  not  guide  me 
back  as  far  as  the  cabin,  my  fair  one?  I  cannot 
seem  to  remember  the  way  at  all  between  here  and 
there." 

Snowfrid's  eyes  answered  him  delightedly,  but 
her  lips  waited  bashfully  for  her  mother.  She  ran 
no  risk  in  doing  so,  however,  for  under  Erna's  ap 
parent  sternness  there  lay  as  much  Norse  sim 
plicity  as  Norse  kindness. 

She  said,  "Go,  child,  of  course,"  and  poured 
Bolverk  so  excellent  a  stirrup-cup,  and  shook  his 
hand  so  warmly  at  parting,  that  he  went  away 
without  even  observing  that  the  master  of  the 
Tower  had  bidden  him  no  farewell,  but  still  stood 
with  his  foot  on  the  bench  and  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 

Erna  looked  at  him  curiously  when  she  had  re 
sumed  her  seat  and  her  knitting.  At  last  she  spoke  : 

"  Hard  tidings  are  these  and  great  to  hear ;  yet  I 
cannot  see,  foster-son,  that  they  touch  us  so  nearly 
as  you  appear  to  feel." 

"You  will  see  when  I  tell  you  what  spell  some 
5° 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

troll  laid  upon  me,"  he  retorted.  Straightening, 
he  went  and  threw  himself  down  in  his  favorite 
place  upon  the  fragrant  mat,  and  began  to  pour 
out  wrathfully  the  story  of  his  adventure  at  the 
Black  Pool. 

"  There  you  have  it  all  before  you,"  he  wound  up. 
"  I  was  made  to  behave  in  an  unfavorable  manner 
before  the  man  with  whom,  above  all  others,  I 
would  wish  to  stand  well.  I  thought,  first,  it  was 
some  poison  from  the  Pool  that  beset  me ;  but  since 
it  worked  no  harm  to  any  one  else,  I  know  it  was  a 
curse  turned  on  me  alone — Hel  take  the  luck!  tfel 
take  it,  I  say!" 

When  she  had  let  her  suspended  breath  go  from 
her  in  a  yawn,  murmuring,  "That  was  a  strange 
happening — a  strange  happening,"  she  answered 
gravely:  "You  throw  blame  undeservedly.  It  is 
your  guardian  spirit  that  has  given  you  power  to 
feel  it  better  than  others  when  an  evil  deed  is  in  the 
air.  I  have  often  heard  of  people  who  had  such  a 
gift-" 

He  flung  up  his  arms  to  snap  the  fingers  sharp 
ly.  "Take  my  share  of  such  white-livered  gifts! 
Power?  I  call  that  a  weakness  which  makes  me 
a  stick  in  the  hands  of  something  stronger  than  I! 
If  I  knew  what  part  of  me  it  had  root  in,  it  should 
not  last  long." 

"You  will  bring  punishment  upon  yourself  for 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

your  ungratefulness,"  she  said,  but  said  it  without 
force,  seeming  to  wander  among  her  thoughts. 
His  scorn  held  the  field. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  what  I  am  to  be  grate 
ful  for!  Nothing  could  make  Helvin  believe  now 
that  I  am  any  better  than  a  coward.  It  shows 
what  a  cur  he  took  me  for  that  his  first  impulse 
was  to  send  an  arrow  after  me.  I  am  as  much 
outlawed  from  his  following  as  though  a  lawman 
had  laid  a  ban  upon  me." 

She  had  no  answer  to  that,  or  else  the  heat  of 
the  fire  was  making  her  drowsy.  Leaning  forward, 
she  sat  blinking  at  it,  her  arms  folded  on  her  knees. 

Breaking  up  twigs  with  one  hand  to  jerk  them 
into  the  flames  with  the  other,  he  went  on  piling 
up  causes  for  bitterness,  though  he  no  longer  spoke 
them  aloud, — they  came  from  too  near  his  heart 
for  that. 

"I  should  have  helped  him,  if  I  had  acted  out 
my  own  nature,  and  he  would  have  done  me  honor 
in  return.  I  should  have  left  this  emptiness  of 
beasts  and  trees  to  measure  myself  against  men. 
It  would  go  hard  with  me  if  I  could  not  prove  my 
self  more  than  that  grinning  French-broken  ape. 
She  showed  him  favor;  she  would  have  shown  me 
more.  .  .  .  She  might  ...  in  time  .  .  .  she  might 
even.  .  .  .  More  unlikely  things  happened  to  my 
father!" 


IV 


"Where  I  see  the  ears,  I  expect  the  wolf" 

— Northern  saying. 

[EITHER  of  them  paid  any  attention 
to  Snowfrid  on  her  return,  and  the 
girl  on  her  side  seemed  to  find  her 
thoughts  quite  as  interesting  as  con 
versation.  After  a  few  minutes,  she 
said  that  she  was  going  to  bed,  and  lighted  a  splinter 
at  the  embers.  The  firelight,  as  she  bent,  showed 
her  bashful  mouth  to  be  smiling  with  the  memory 
of  kisses.  She  seemed  to  be  walking  in  a  blissful 
dream  as  she  went  lightly  up  the  stairs. 

What  aroused  Randvar,  finally,  was  the  con 
sciousness  that  his  foster-mother  was  moving  with 
unnatural  deliberation.  Sitting  up  to  look  at  her, 
he  found  that  her  gaze  had  become  fixed  upon 
the  space  beyond  the  fire,  and  she  was  lifting  her 
arm  from  her  knee  to  stretch  it  out  in  that  direc 
tion. 

"  Look  at  that  wolf  yonder,"  she  said. 
"A  wolf?"     He  rose  to  his  feet,  bent  to  pick  up 
a  brand.     Then  as  his  gaze  followed  her  finger, 

53 


he  dropped  the  wood  impatiently.  "It  is  the  fire 
dazzling  you.  There  is  no  wolf  there." 

Yawning,  Erna  lifted  both  her  arms  to  stretch 
them  above  her  head.  "  I  forgot  that  I  was  seeing 
with  the  eyes  of  my  mind,  instead  of  with  the  eyes 
of  my  body,"  she  said.  "It  stood  yonder,  where 
the  moonlight  ends  and  the  firelight  begins.  There 
was  a  goldlike  glow  to  its  fur,  and  its  eyes  were  as 
bright  embers.  It  must  have  been  the  Other  Shape 
of  Kelvin  Jarl." 

The  voice  in  which  he  repeated  the  name  was  in 
such  contrast  to  her  monotone  that  it  startled  him 
self ;  he  went  on  with  stern  restraint:  "Do  you  in 
tend  to  tell  me  that  Helvin  Jarl's  wanderings  will 
lead  him  here,  where  I  shall  have  to  face  him  and 
explain  what  ailed  me  to-day?" 

She  would  not  curtail  the  yawn  that  was  stretch 
ing  her  jaws,  but  she  nodded. 

Randvar  made  no  attempt  to  hide  his  impulse, 
snatching  his  coat  down  from  the  antler-rack  for 
instant  flight. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  that  you  can  do  the  honors 
without  me,"  he  said.  "I  shall  spend  the  night 
with  the  birds  in  Fenrir's  Jaws." 

But  Erna's  mouth  was  again  practicable  for  talk 
ing,  and  she  was  using  it  drowsily.  "  Yes,  I  know 
for  certain  that  he  will  come  by  here.  And  I  am 
altogether  too  sleepy  to  remember  anything  about 

54 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

manners.  I  will  lose  no  time  in  getting  out  of 
your  way."  Rubbing  her  eyes  with  one  hand,  she 
gathered  up  her  knitting  with  the  other,  as  ob 
livious  to  his  position  as  though  she  had  never 
understood  it. 

It  came  back  to  her  foster-son,  then,  that  mental 
numbness  follows  as  well  as  precedes  the  use  of 
double  sight.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  throw 
the  cloak  upon  the  floor  and  himself  into  a  sulk, 
while  she  moved  through  the  routine  of  her  nightly 
tasks,  making  sure  that  Snowfrid  had  covered  the 
jar  of  venison  broth,  letting  down  against  the  fresh 
night-wind  two  or  three  of  the  bearskin  curtains 
with  which  the  arches  were  provided. 

"  If  I  should  ever  get  so  dulled  by  wine  as  she 
by  this,"  he  fumed  inwardly,  "I  should  smart  for 
it  while  her  tongue  could  wag ;  yet  how  much  bet 
ter  is  she  than  drunk?" 

When  she  had  climbed  stiffly  up  the  stairs,  and 
the  light  of  her  torch-splinter  had  been  swallowed 
by  the  upper  darkness,  his  resentment  overflowed 
his  lips. 

"Again  I  declare  my  belief  that  weird  powers 
are  an  accursed  hindrance.  What  avail  is  it  to 
warn  a  man  of  coming  evil  if  no  way  is  shown  him 
to  ward  it  off?"  He  emphasized  his  words  by  a 
kick  at  the  great  log  just  before  him. 

The  sudden  flare  of  flames  and  flight  of  sparks 
55 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

and  jarring  of  charred  parts  asunder  seemed  to 
afford  him  some  relief;  while  regarding  them,  he 
bethought  him  of  a  loop-hole. 

"After  all,  I  do  not  know  how  we  make  it  out 
that  the  visitor  must  be  Helvin!  A  wolf  is  the 
animal-spirit  that  runs  before  many  a  valiant  man. 
Nine  chances  to  one,  it  will  be  no  more  than  the 
French  Olaf  in  search  of  him." 

The  possibility  made  his  alarm  seem  senseless. 
Snapping  his  fingers  at  the  world  beyond  the  bright 
ring,  he  gave  the  log  a  second  kick,  this  time  of 
friendly  correction. 

"Comes  the  Devil  himself,  he  must  have  no 
fault  to  find  with  the  hospitality  of  Freya's  Tow 
er,"  he  said,  and  set  to  work  to  replenish  the 
fire. 

Tearing  the  great  saplings  free  from  the  pile 
and  breaking  them  resoundingly  under  his  heel, 
he  worked  too  vigorously  for  a  while  to  leave  any 
space  for  brooding,  and  he  had  no  opportunity  to 
take  it  up  again  when  the  task  was  finished. 
Even  as  he  rose  from  laying  on  the  last  bough 
and  turned  again  to  the  outer  dusk,  he  saw  the 
grape-vine  thrust  aside  from  the  head  of  the  path 
— saw  a  man  appear  in  the  opening  and  stand  there 
—a  peculiarly  proportioned  man  whose  breadth  of 
shoulder  and  length  of  arm  suggested  that  he  had 
been  formed  for  towering  tallness,  and  that  it  was 

56 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

i 

blasting   mischance   which   had   stopped    him    at 
medium  height. 

Randvar's  panic  took  the  form  of  obstinate  un 
belief.  Even  when  the  apparition  quitted  its  hold 
on  the  vine  and  came  slowly  towards  him  over  the 
grass,  he  doggedly  refused  to  believe  that  the  Fates 
would  be  so  contrary. 

But  on  the  spot  where  the  moonlight  ended  and 
the  firelight  began,  the  visitor  came  to  a  stand 
still;  the  red  glow  meeting  him  eagerly  illumined 
him  from  head  to  foot.  There  was  no  mistaking 
the  gray  garments,  blood-drenched  and  torn ;  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  mass  of  blood-red  hair;  and 
looking  at  the  haggard  face  in  the  sinister  frame, 
the  Songsmith's  own  figure  came  back  to  him, 
"fire  cased  in  flesh."  In  the  ash-gray  eyes,  live 
embers  were  glowing.  Suddenly  something  else 
came  to  Randvar, — a  consciousness  that  murder 
ous  hatred  was  looking  at  him  out  of  those  eyes. 

Scorn  he  had  been  prepared  for,  but  this — this 
amazed  him.  It  was  instinct  that  acted  to  stiffen 
him  alertly, as  he  made  salute,  saying,  "I  give  you 
welcome,  Helvin  Jarl." 

Whatever  his  temper,  Starkad's  son  had  a  jarl's 
dignity  of  bearing.  He  answered  grimly : 

"I  hold  that  welcome  for  true  which  is  told  by 
the  face  as  well  as  by  the  tongue.  I  think  you  did 
not  expect  to  see  me  so  soon?" 

57 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

That  seemed  so  easy  to  answer  that  Randvar 
had  said  "No,"  before  he  recollected  the  truth, 
when  he  amended  it  with  "Yes,"  and  stopped  short 
in  angry  confusion.  His  embarrassment  was  not 
lessened  by  the  inevitable  next  question: 

"  Why  did  you  run  away  when  I  called  to 
you?" 

•  He  said  desperately,  at  last:  "Jarl,  I  do  not 
know  how  to  put  it  into  words.  You  can  believe 
that  I  went  mad." 

He  had  braced  himself  to  meet  jeering  laughter, 
to  endure  it  without  strangling  the  jeerer.  It  took 
him  a  breath's  space  to  realize  that  Kelvin's  mind 
was  no  longer  on  him.  The  arm  by  which  he  had 
been  steadying  himself  against  the  pillar  had 
doubled  under  him  like  a  broken  reed;  now  he 
swung  forward  against  the  stone,  and  would  have 
pitched  into  the  fire  if  Randvar  had  not  leaped 
the  flames  and  caught  him. 

When  he  had  lowered  him  upon  a  bench  with  his 
back  against  a  support,  the  next  move  was  natural 
ly  to  fill  a  horn  at  the  wine-cask  and  bring  it  to 
him.  Remembering  only  his  old  feeling  towards 
the  Jarl's  son,  Rolf's  son  performed  the  service 
with  swift  good  -  will.  He  was  recalled  to  their 
present  relations  by  Kelvin's  lifting  a  hand  in  re 
fusal  of  his  hospitality. 

It  obliged  him  to  fall  back  a  step  and  hesitate, 
58 


Randv&r  the  Songsmith 

balancing  the  rejected  cup,  but  it  emboldened  him 
presently  to  protest. 

"Jarl,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  this  matter 
is  going  according  to  good  sense.  That  I  have 
done  nothing  to  earn  friendship,  I  own ;  but  I  deny 
that  I  have  done  aught  to  call  for  ill-will.  If  you 
think  me  a  milksop,  I  cannot  come  to  words  with 
you  about  that;  but  it  is  the  truth  that  I  would 
have  been  eager  in  joining  you." 

Leaning  back  with  closed  eyes,  Kelvin's  face 
was  yet  drawn  awry  by  mocking  laughter. 

"Eager!"  he  murmured.  "Eager!"  Then,  "It 
may  be  that  if  I  had  not  come  here  to-night,  your 
eagerness  would  have  urged  you  to  seek  me  out 
in  the  Town?" 

"  Surely  not.  I  did  not  say  that  I  had  the  wish 
to  be  thrown  out  of  your  hall." 

"More  likely  would  you  have  been  carried  out," 
Helvin  answered  dryly. 

Despite  his  resentment,  Randvar  had  a  feeling 
of  admiration  for  a  man  who  dared  say  such  a 
thing  to  him, — a  man  whose  exhausted  body  would 
have  been  a  rag  in  the  forester's  hands.  He  said, 
as  he  turned  and  threw  the  untasted  wine  into  the 
fire: 

"  If  you  have  set  your  heart  on  hating  me,  have 
it  your  own  way.  It  must  be  because  your  tem 
per  has  been  tried  to-day.  I  will  only  say  that  I 
5  59 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

am  sorry,  for  I  have  always  felt  a  liking  towards 
you." 

Though  his  head  continued  to  lean  heavily 
against  the  pillar,  the  Jarl's  eyes  opened  to  flash 
at  him.  "  Excepting  once  to  -  day  and  once  last 
season,  when  you  sang  in  a  hunter's  cabin,  I  do 
not  know  that  I  have  ever  seen  you." 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  been  so  told  about  you— 
Randvar  was  beginning,  but  was  checked  as  much 
by  his  own  sense  of  intrusion  as  by  a  flame  from 
the  smouldering  eyes. 

The  young  Jarl  went  on  haughtily:  "It  had 
come  to  my  mind,  before,  that  my  affairs  must  be 
a  juicy  mouthful  for  gabblers  to  chew  over  the 
fire ;  but  I  did  not  know  that  the  things  they  said 
were  the  kind  to  attract  friends  to  me,  and  there 
will  be  much  awanting  before  I  believe  it." 

Randvar  gave  up  then ;  shrugging,  he  said  only : 
"Believe  whatever  you  like  about  it;  yet  I  wish 
I  had  a  chance  to  prove  my  good- will." 

Again  he  expected  the  jeering  laughter,  and 
again  he  missed  his  foretelling.  A  long  time  Star- 
kad's  son  sat  staring  out  at  the  darkness,  strange 
expressions  playing  over  his  white  face  like  flick- 
erings  of  his  inner  fire;  then,  at  last,  his  thoughts 
formed  themselves  into  slow-spoken  words: 

"  Never  could  it  happen  that  my  look  encoun 
tered  you  without  recalling  how  I  saw  you  this 

60 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

morning, — yet  what  else  is  to  be  done?  To  hold 
enmity  against  a  man  who  offers  me  good-will — 
This,  at  least,  you  have  never  heard  of  me,  Song- 
smith,  that  I  am  low-minded!  Only  one  way  is 
open  to  me."  He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the 
horn.  "  I  will  accept  it  from  you  now,"  he  said, 
and  drained  gratefully  the  second  draught  his  host 
brought  him,  the  rich  juice  imparting  some  of  its 
own  warm  life  to  his  ghastly  face.  He  drew  him 
self  erect  as  he  gave  back  the  cup.  "There  shall 
be  peace  between  us,  only  I  make  it  a  condition  that 
you  shall  enter  my  following." 

Once  or  twice  before  the  conversation  had  taken 
turns  unexpected  to  Randvar,  but  nothing  to  com 
pare  with  this. 

"You  make  that  a  condition!"  he  repeated. 

Kelvin's  finely  marked  brows  drew  nearer  to 
gether.  "You  should  not  take  it  ill,  if  you  have 
as  much  mind  to  serve  me  as  you  said  a  while  ago. 
You  shall  have  the  honorable  post  of  my  song- mak 
er, — my  father's  skald  is  years  overdue  in  Valhalla." 

To  imagine  such  an  offer  in  his  day-dreams  had 
seemed  to  the  Songsmith  as  natural  as  eating ;  but 
hearing  it  now  in  his  waking  ears,  he  wondered  if 
he  were  not  asleep.  He  said,  "  I  give  you  thanks," 
but  so  dazedly  that  like  lightning  playing  over  a 
distant  peak,  a  flash  of  that  devil-mockery  flickered 
over  Helvin's  face. 

61 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"What  now!  Does  your  brisk  friendship  get 
weak  in  the  knees  when  it  comes  to  trusting  your 
self  in  my  power?" 

Flushing,  Rolf's  son  swallowed  a  boast  and 
answered  only:  "Why  should  I  be  afraid,  Jarl? 
You  have  given  me  your  word  that  this  happen 
ing  shall  not  weigh  against  me." 

Again  it  struck  him  as  odd  the  way  Helvin 
leaned  forward  and  scrutinized  him,  long  and  in 
credulously. 

"  I  did  not  mean  because  of  this  matter,"  he  said, 
at  last.  "I  meant  because  you  might  feel  some 
doubts  about  the  turn  of  temper  I  have."  The 
strange  mockery  of  the  smile  in  which  his  lips 
drew  away  from  his  white  teeth,  as  he  said  that, 
was  made  stranger  still  by  the  awful  intentness  of 
his  eyes. 

So  much  strangeness  began  to  tell  upon  Rand- 
var's  stock  of  patience.  He  said  bluntly: 

"Jarl,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  I  have  no 
doubts  whatever  about  your  temper,  for  I  have 
seen  plainly  that  you  have  a  very  bad  one.  But 
neither  have  I  been  used  to  lamblike  men.  Will 
ingly  will  I  strike  a  bargain  on  these  terms,  if  I 
have  the  choice." 

After  they  were  out,  the  words  struck  him  as 
being  a  trifle  unceremonious;  he  did  not  wonder 
much  that  Starkad's  son  should  sit  staring  like 

62 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

one  dumfounded.  But  that  scorn  should  grad 
ually  grow  up  in  his  face! 

"Behold,  I  believe  you!"  the  young  Jarl  said 
with  biting  slowness.  "I  believe  you  have  the 
Devil's  boldness  to  match  against  my  Devil's  nat 
ure, — and  at  the  back  of  that,  the  ambition  of 
Lucifer!  Now,  it  is  told  that  the  closeness  of  a 
court  breeds  rottenness;  but  what  shall  be  said  of 
such  foulness  as  this,  out  in  the  forest's  untainted 
air?  When  such  as  I  go  before,  a  worse  is  not  to 
be  looked  for  behind ;  and  this  man  knows  it ;  and 
still  is  he  willing  to  sell  his  manhood  for  my  miser 
able  gifts!" 

It  was  not  only  his  voice  and  his  words  that  bit, 
but  his  look  as  well.  Rolf's  son  winced  under  the 
smart,  and  spoke  between  his  teeth. 

"  Such  wrong  you  do  me,  Helvin,  Jarl's  son,  that 
it  will  be  hard  work  for  you  to  atone  for  it.  If 
I  had  been  willing  to  sell  my  manhood  for  gifts, 
would  I  not  have  put  on  your  father's  yoke  ?  That 
I  want  to  become  your  man  is  because  I  expect 
that  you  will  make  following  you  an  honor.  The 
evil  I  know  of  you  I  think  no  more  your  fault  than 
I  think  it  blame  to  an  oak  that  a  poison  vine  is 
thrown  around  its  branches.  Now,  as  things  stand, 
I  believe  you  will  shake  it  off,  and  the  oak  strength 
in  your  breast  will  send  your  mind  up  oak  -  high 
and  oak-broad  to  be  a  strong  pillar  to  other  men." 

63 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

He  had  got  his  temper  back  by  the  time  he  fin 
ished.  From  under  his  level  brows,  his  eyes  looked 
steadfast  as  sunlight  into  the  face  of  his  lord.  As 
the  sun  draws  a  tree  upward,  so  the  young  Jarl  was 
drawn  upright  by  the  look. 

"All  my  life,"  he  breathed,  "have  I  believed 
that  of  myself,  but  never  did  I  think  to  find  an 
other  who  would  believe  it — who  could  believe  it! 
Does  not  some  troll  mock  me?" 

The  Songsmith  answered:  "I  think  you  know 
that  I  speak  the  truth." 

Looking  into  his  eyes,  it  seemed  that  Helvin  did 
know  it.  It  seemed  that  he  was  opening  his  lips  to 
say  so,  when  into  the  stillness  was  dropped  a  sound 
like  the  distant  clink  of  spur  against  stone.  In  the 
beat  of  a  pulse,  his  face  had  become  distorted  by 
that  hatred  which  springs  from  fear.  He  dropped 
back  upon  the  bench,  his  words  slipping  out  dis- 
jointedly. 

"  Let  us  see  who  has  dared  to  follow  me — who 
has  dared!  Mind  this — that  you  make  it  appear 
as  if  I  lingered  to  hear  you  sing.  Go  yonder  to 
your  harp,  if  that  be  a  harp!" 

Though  of  home-make  and  rude  shape,  it  was  a 
harp  that  hung  on  the  pillar  above  the  bed  of  fox- 
skins.  Laying  it  on  his  breast,  the  Songsmith 
played  as  he  was  bidden, — random  chords  that  fell 
absently  from  the  ends  of  his  fingers.  Standing 

64 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

there  in  the  shelter  of  the  bearskin  that  had  been 
drawn  across  the  arch,  he  could  not  longer  see 
the  head  of  the  path;  but  he  knew  when  the  pur 
suer  emerged  from  the  bushes  by  Helvin's  smoth 
ered  cry: 

"Olaf!" 

Gripping  the  edge  of  the  seat,  the  Jarl  leaned 
there  gazing  out  with  distended  eyes.  "He  is  the 
likeliest  man  to  find  it  out  and  follow.  .  .  .  Since  the 
day  of  my  birth  he  has  hounded  me.  .  .  .  He  followed 
me  into  the  world  by  an  hour,  but  I  think  he  will 
go  out  of  it  before  me."  .  .  .  His  voice  died  away  in 
murmur, — ceased  at  last  so  that  between  the  harp- 
chords  could  be  heard  the  soft  rustle  of  footsteps 
through  grass.  Soon  after  that,  the  imposing  form 
of  Olaf  the  French  came  into  the  range  of  the 
Songsmith 's  vision. 

Not  to  Randvar  either  had  it  occurred  that  Olaf 
could  be  seeking  any  but  the  Jarl.  It  amazed  him, 
also,  that  at  sight  of  the  gray-clad  figure  leaning 
on  the  bench  Thorgrim's  son  showed  unmistakable 
surprise. 

"Lord!"  he  said.  Then,  with  the  suavest  gest 
ure  in  his  stock  of  French  graces :  "  Lord,  I  would 
give  much  if  I  had  not  this  appearance  of  having 
so  little  regard  for  your  orders  as  to  come  prying 
upon  your  grief.  Believe  me — 

"My  grief!"  Helvin  repeated.  "My—  '  A  quiver 
65 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

of  terrible  laughter  undermined  his  voice  and  it  fell ; 
then,  in  the  drawing  of  a  breath  it  rose  defiantly. 
"  Since  this  matter  has  been  spoken  of,  let  me  make 
it  plain  to  you  that  you  may  make  it  plain  to 
others,  and  tongue  need  never  be  laid  to  it  again. 
/  have  no  grief.  Nor  to  save  any  one's  feelings  will 
I  make  pretence  of  any.  Let  no  man  urge  it  on 
me,  if  his  ears  would  go  unscathed!" 

Olaf  made  no  attempt  to  urge  it,  certainly.  As 
in  toleration  of  some  noble  whim,  he  smiled  bland 
ly  and  bowed  acquiescence.  After  a  moment  the 
Jarl  resumed  curtly: 

"If  it  was  not  to  seek  me  that  you  came  hither, 
what  may  it  be  that  you  want?" 

That  it  might  be  to  finish  their  interrupted  duel 
had  already  occurred  to  Randvar;  but  if  he  im 
agined  that  Olaf  would  have  any  difficulty  in  pre 
senting  their  quarrel  in  a  light  favorable  to  himself, 
his  estimate  fell  short.  The  French  One  answered 
without  hesitation : 

"It  so  happens  that  I  am  in  this  neighborhood, 
Jarl,  because  your  men  have  made  a  night-camp 
near  the  head  of  the  Island.  And  I  am  come  to 
the  Tower  to  fulfil  a  task  I  have  set  myself,  which 
is  to  avenge  on  this  fellow  his  insolence  towards 
your  sister." 

"My  sister!"  the  young  noble  repeated,  sitting 
erect. 

66 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"  In  this  wise  will  I  answer  you,  lord,  as  is  the 
very  truth.  This  morning  the  gold-adorned  maid 
en  chanced  upon  him  in  the  forest;  and  after  the 
fashion  of  damsels  with  things  that  are  new  to 
them,  she  showed  interest  in  his  jingling  accom 
plishments.  Word  followed  word  until,  on  dis 
covering  that  there  was  gentle  blood  in  him,  she 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  honor  him  with  an  invitation 
to  join  her  following.  You  would  say  that  if  he 
had  one  good  strain  in  him  he  would  have  shown 
thankfulness  for  her  favor.  Instead  of  that,  how 
ever,  he  answered  her  even  with  ill-temper,  jeered 
at  the  life  she  offered  him,  ended  the  talk  by  in 
forming  her  that  he  did  not  think  her  service  good 
enough  for  him.  If  you  think  I  am  making  it  out 
worse  than  it  is,  I  shall  not  blame  you, — only  ask 
him  to  deny  it." 

It  is  strange  how  different  one's  own  sentiments 
can  seem  when  echoed  by  another's  mouth,  and 
after  time  has  allayed  the  irritation  from  which 
they  sprang.  The  song-maker  had  enough  gentle 
blood  to  dye  his  face  at  the  recollection  of  his 
quarrel  with  the  beautiful  Brynhild;  nor  could  he 
meet  the  glance  the  Jarl  bent  on  him,  but  stood 
grinding  the  cedar  twigs  under  his  heel  and  wish 
ing  that  they  were  some  portion  of  the  French 
One's  comely  body. 

But  Helvin  Jarl  spoke  tranquilly.  With  the 

67 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

passing  of  his  belief  that  Olaf  was  in  pursuit  of 
him,  fierceness  like  a  storm  wind  had  passed  from 
his  bearing  and  left  him  jarlfully  poised. 

"That  is  to  be  said  of  his  fault,  beausire,  that 
it  needs  mending;  but  hardly  are  you  the  man  to 
do  it.  This  one  thing  is  enough  to  hinder  it,  that 
you  are  known  to  be  the  most  jealous  of  all  my 
sister's  suitors.  Think  only  how  spiteful  tongues 
might  slander  you,  and  say  that  instead  of  resent 
ing  rudeness  you  were  in  truth  avenging  it  on  the 
Songsmith  that  Starkad's  daughter  showed  him 
such  great  kindness !  Better  that  you  hand  it  over 
to  me,  beausire,  since,  besides  being  her  brother,  I 
am  also  answerable  for  this  man.  For  I  may  as 
well  take  this  time  to  make  it  known  that  the 
Songsmith  has  consented  to  enter  my  household, 
and  make  for  me  the  songs  which,  even  before  I 
strayed  here  to-night,  I  found  pleasure  in.  What 
needs  be  said,  I  will  say,  beausire,  and  overtake 
you  shortly." 

Rising,  he  made  a  gesture  of  dismissal  which, 
if  it  lacked  French  grace,  had  at  least  Norse  de 
cision.  Before  it  Thorgrim's  bland  son  was  forced 
to  bow,  and,  bowing,  to  back  out  of  the  circle  of 
the  firelight.  When  he  had  become  a  dark  shape 
in  the  moonshine,  the  Jarl  turned  to  where  his 
new  follower  was  waiting  in  keen  discomfort. 

"Do  not  imagine,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  going 
68 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

to  pretend  to  be  surprised  that  you  lost  your  tem 
per  with  my  sister.  So  has  her  haughtiness  grown, 
that  what  I  wonder  at  is  that  some  man  is  not 
driven  to  slay  her.  Only  for  your  own  sake  do  I 
remind  you — as  so  often  I  have  been  reminded— 
that  good  manners  are  like  a  coat  of  mail  in  that 
every  breach  of  them  opens  a  hole  for  the  thrust 
of  your  enemies." 

Of  reproof  it  was  the  mildest.  In  his  self-dis 
satisfaction,  the  song-maker  was  even  moved  to 
outdo  it,  and  muttered  with  another  kick  at  the 
log  in  front  of  him: 

"You  say  less  than  you  might  if  you  wanted  to 
push  the  matter.  It  is  seen  that  your  sister  thinks 
me  no  better  than  a  boor." 

"  I  should  be  two-faced  to  say  more,"  Helvin 
returned,  "for  to  me  the  happening  is  even  of  ser 
vice.  Now,  when  I  no  longer  have  before  me  the 
honestness  of  your  face  to  make  me  believe  in  you, 
it  will  stand  me  in  some  stead  to  be  able  to  tell 
myself  that  I  know  you  spoke  the  truth  about 
scorning  court  ways  and  preferring  my  service 
over  that  of  another,  as  has  not  been  the  case 
before.  Do  not  take  it  ill  that  I  nee4  proof.  This 
happens  to  me  for  the  first  time  that  I  trust  any 
one.  Yet  I  wish  it  were  possible  for  you  to  fare 
back  with  me  to-night." 

Remembering  the   crops   that  must  be   talked 
69 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

over  with  Erna,  the  traps  that  must  be  explained 
to  the  old  Vikings,  the  young  master  of  the  Tower 
hesitated ;  but  the  instant  the  Jarl  read  his  difficulty, 
he  ended  it  courteously. 

"  I  see,  however,  that  you  have  needful  business 
to  arrange.  Take  two  days  to  attend  to  it,  and 
join  me  on  the  third  day  at  sunset.  Only  assure 
me  that  you  will  not  fail  me  on  that  day." 

Rather  an  appeal  than  a  command  did  it  be 
come  in  the  gentleness  of  his  voice,  the  friendliness 
of  the  hand  he  stretched  out.  Taking  the  hand  in 
both  of  his,  the  Songsmith  answered  from  the  sin 
cerity  of  his  heart: 

"  May  my  luck  fail  me  if  I  fail  you  either  in  this 
or  in  greater  things!  For  all  it  is  worth  you  have 
my  loyalty,  I  take  oath  on  it." 

Returning  the  pressure  of  the  Songsmith 's  warm 
clasp,  the  Jarl's  gaze  held  him  long  and  strangely. 

"I  believe  you,"  he  said.  "For  whatever  it  is 
worth,  I  swear  you  my  friendship — for  whatever 
it  is  worth!" 

On  that  they  parted. 


V 


"His  hands  are  clean  who  warns  another" 

—  Northern  saying. 

AIT  a  moment,"  Erna  commanded, 
quickening  her  descent  of  the  stairs. 
Wrapped  in  his  cloak  of  russet 
homespun,  Randvar  had  just  come 
in  from  his  morning  swim,  and  was 
hastening  where  his  heap  of  clothing  waited  by 
the  fire.  He  quieted  the  chattering  of  his  teeth 
to  look  at  her  inquiringly. 

Two  days  and  three  nights  had  passed  since  the 
strain  of  using  her  double  sight  had  numbed  her 
wits;  once  more  she  was  her  capable  keen -eyed 
self.  Yet  there  was  a  quiver  of  unusual  emotion 
in  her  stern  face  as  she  came  up  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm. 

"  I  want  to  find  out  whether  you  are  in  danger 
of  sinking  by  swords,"  she  said  with  her  custom 
ary  terseness,  and  her  grasp  tightened  determined 
ly  as  he  started  to  move  away. 

"  I  have  declared,  foster-mother,  that  I  will  en 
dure  no  more  magic  though  my  life  lies  on  it!" 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"What  magic  is  it  that  my  palms,  like  those  of 
many  another  witchcraft-knowing  woman,  have 
the  power  to  feel  where  steel  is  going  to  pierce  a 
vital  part,  and  to  strengthen  that  part  ?  I  tell  you 
to  let  me  have  my  will.  I  dreamed  last  night  that 
I  saw  a  wounded  eagle,  which  may  well  be  your 
Other  Shape." 

"Foster-mother,  I  tell  you  that  any  more  of 
this  spell- work  is  going  to  put  me  into  a  bad  tem 
per;  and  it  is  my  wish  to  behave  well  towards  you 
the  last  morning  we  are  together."  Involuntarily, 
his  voice  softened. 

Though  usually  she  disdained  them,  she  was  not 
without  a  knowledge  of  woman's  weapons.  She 
assumed  them  rather  than  lose  her  point. 

"Maybe  so,  but  you  behave  all  the  other  way 
to  set  your  self-will  against  my  peace  of  mind. 
Do  you  think  I  could  bear  Eric's  absence  if  I  had 
not  the  assurance  of  my  hands  that  his  body  is 
sound?" 

Wondering  whether  she  had  also  tested  the 
soundness  of  Eric's  head  tempted  the  Songsmith 
to  a  chuckle.  The  discovery  that  half  the  fierce 
brightness  of  her  eyes  was  due  to  tears  finished  his 
disarming.  Half  sighing,  half  growling,  he  let  his 
cloak  slip  off  his  shoulders. 

"When  did  I  ever  get  my  will  against  you,— 
after  I  got  out  of  swaddling-bands?     I  ask,  how- 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ever,  that  you  do  not  keep  me  feeling  foolish  here 
longer  than  is  necessary." 

Probably  it  was  the  same  to  her  as  though  he 
were  still  in  swaddling-bands,  when  once  she  had 
closed  her  eyes  that  all  her  forces  might  be  con 
centrated  in  her  sense  of  touch.  The  palms  she 
pressed  upon  his  firm  cool  flesh — polished  satin- 
smooth  by  the  water,  glistening  satin-fair  in  the 
firelight — moved  as  tenderly  as  though  the  sinewy 
frame  were  still  the  soft  child-body  that  she  had 
tended  in  its  helplessness.  Each  time  his  glance 
fell  upon  her  worn  face  with  its  mouth  hard-set 
in  anxiety  for  him,  he  swallowed  his  impatience 
one  time  more;  and  when  the  waxing  light  made 
delay  no  longer  possible,  his  efforts  to  free  himself 
were  begun  with  all  gentleness. 

"Foster-mother,  be  good  enough  to  remember 
that  I  cannot  start  later  than  sunrise,  if  I  am  to 
reach  there  by  sunset." 

She  clutched  him  with  one  hand,  while  the  other 
pressed  hard  upon  his  left  side. 

"  I  thought  I  felt  a  place — stand  still! — over  your 
heart.  It  would  be  a  death  wound,  indeed.  There! 
Cold!  A  spot  as  cold  as  Hel's  mouth!"  She 
opened  eyes  dilated  with  excitement  in  a  face  that 
had  become  ashen  pale. 

An  involuntary  shiver  passed  over  him,  cooling 
his  impatience.  He  watched  thoughtfully  while 

73 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

she  began  to  knead  his  flesh  with  her  warm  and 
tingling  finger-balls.  After  a  time  he  said: 

"  It  cannot  be  gainsaid  that  this  is  a  better 
place  to  give  a  thrust  than  to  take  one.  I  admit 
that  I  expect  to  meet  some  unexpected  things  in 
the  path  I  am  entering.  Not  a  little  overgrowth 
hides  it.  Although  I  cannot  tell  why,  much  that 
the  Jarl  said  that  night  came  to  me  as  a  surprise. 
I  suppose  that  the  strangeness  of  his  temper  is 
the  explanation  of  it.  ...  Yet  there  is  one  thing  that 
I  can  find  no  answer  to, — why  should  he  act  as  if 
it  were  important  to  him  to  have  an  unknown 
man  like  me  in  his  following?" 

Instead  of  answering,  she  began  to  rub  at  what 
she  considered  a  vulnerable  place  in  his  discretion. 
"Never  make  the  mistake  of  belittling  yourself 
like  that,  and  least  of  all  where  strangers  can  hear 
you.  The  result  might  be  that  they  would  take 
you  at  your  word  and  believe  you  to  be  a  man  of 
no  mark." 

He  stirred  impatiently.  "  Brisk  enough  am  I, 
and  many  shall  give  place  to  me;  but  this  I  know 
not, — why  it  should  matter  to  the  Jarl  of  New  Nor 
way  where  I  spend  my  days." 

Neither  did  she  know,  when  she  came  to  think 
it  over.  She  soon  gave  up  the  attempt  to  fall  back 
upon  what  she  did  know. 

"  It  will  be  all  the  same  in  the  end.  I  have  done 
74 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

all  I  can  in  protecting  your  vitals.  Safe  into  the 
fray  you  will  go;  safe  out  of  the  fray  you  will 
come, — if  you  do  not  let  your  flesh  get  cut  so  that 
you  bleed  to  death.  Stand  still  that  I  may  see 
if  I  have  brought  back  the  life- warmth.  .  .  .  Yes  .  .  . 
yes,  the  cold  is  entirely  gone."  When  she  had 
pulled  herself  up  stiffly  by  his  arm,  she  released 
him.  "  Scant  time  will  you  have  to  jump  into  your 
clothes.  The  sun  is  not  far  away  when  the  top 
of  that  chestnut- tree  stands  out  so  boldly." 

"That  is  true!"  he  assented,  and  cleared  at  a 
bound  the  distance  between  himself  and  his  clothing. 

For  a  while  there  were  no  other  sounds  to  be 
heard  save  the  simmering  of  the  kettle  and  the 
song  of  Snowfrid  overhead,  sweet  as  the  lilt  of  a 
meadow-lark  in  a  field  of  golden  grain. 

As  he  rose  from  swallowing  his  last  mouthful 
of  broth,  the  girl  came  clattering  down  the  stairs, 
waving  over  her  head  a  great  sword  whose  hilt 
was  of  iron  inlaid  with  silver,  and  whose  sheath 
was  made  from  a  rattlesnake-skin. 

"  I  knew  that  though  you  should  forget  to  say 
farewell  to  me,  you  would  remember  to  wait  for 
this,"  she  said.  "  I  took  it  up-stairs  last  night  and 
polished  it  a  long  time  after  you  were  all  asleep. 
Does  it  not  look  well?" 

"I  did  not  remember  it,"  Randvar  admitted, 
"  so  little  used  am  I  to  anything  more  than  a  hunt- 
6  75 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ing-knife."  Taking  it  from  her  as  she  unsheathed 
it,  he  felt  its  edges  critically,  and  feigned  to  test 
them  on  one  of  her  yellow  braids.  "The  hilt 
cleaves  to  my  hand  like  the  palm  of  a  friend. 
I  shall  feel  more  self-respecting  to  go  among 
strangers  with  my  father's  sword  at  my  side. 
Perhaps  some  of  his  good-fortune  will  come  from 
it  to  me."  His  brown  face  reddened,  and  he 
turned  it  away  suddenly  to  watch  the  girl's  nim 
ble  fingers  fastening  at  his  hip  the  sword  -  belt 
which  she  had  drawn  across  his  shoulder. 

But  Snowfrid  jumped  up  with  her  usual  liveli 
ness,  crying,  "  If  your  luck  is  most  good,  it  may 
even  happen  that  the  Jarl  will  make  you  a  guards 
man  like  Bolverk,"  and  he  bestirred  himself  to 
tease  her  as  usual. 

"Pooh!  If  he  cannot  do  any  more  for  me  than 
that,  I  shall  come  home  again!" 

The  emphasis  with  which  her  hands  planted 
themselves  upon  her  hips  boded  ill  for  him,  but 
Erna  came  between  them  to  make  sure  that  the 
strap  which  held  his  harp  to  his  back  was  also 
secure.  When  that  had  been  seen  to,  there  was 
no  further  excuse  for  lingering. 

Stretching  out  his  arms  to  his  foster-mother, 
he  said :  "  Live  as  well  as  you  can,  and  do  not  worry 
about  Eric  or  me.  Your  luck  will  take  care  of 
me,  and  I  will  take  care  of  him." 

76 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

She  clasped  him  around  the  neck,  and  kissed 
him  with  passionate  fierceness. 

"If  you  owe  me  anything,  pay  it  to  Eric,"  she 
whispered  in  his  ear,  and  then  turned  away  and 
began  violently  to  stir  the  soup. 

At  that,  Snowfrid  took  a  hand  from  her  hip  to 
draw  the  back  of  the  wrist  across  her  eyes,  and 
signified  that  she  was  going  to  see  him  off  by  slip 
ping  out  ahead  into  the  gray  light. 

Though  the  darkness  had  melted  from  the  air, 
there  lingered  in  it  yet  that  chill  of  unreality  which 
makes  earth  and  trees  and  even  rocks  seem  but 
phantoms  of  themselves.  As  they  crossed  the 
grass,  Randvar  said,  "It  has  the  look  of  a  dead 
world  that  is  waiting  for  the  sun  to  bring  it  to 
life,"  and  the  girl  shivered  assent  and  drew 
closer  to  him. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  path  she  stopped,  and  he 
turned  for  a  parting  look  at  the  dwelling  that  his 
father's  gentled  strength  had  built  and  his  moth 
er's  courageous  love  had  hallowed.  In  the  gray- 
ness  it  loomed  as  remote  and  unreal  as  all  the 
rest,  the  firelight  that  showed  wanly  through  the 
archways  only  adding  to  its  shadowy  strange 
ness. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  life  is  only  just  beginning 
for  me,  too,"  he  said  slowly  as  he  gazed. 

"You  ought  not  to  feel  so,"  the  girl  cried  re- 
77 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

proachfully.  "You  ought  to  feel  that  you  are 
going  away  from  your  father  and  mother." 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  feel  instead  that  I  am 
coming  closer  to  them.  It  was  my  father's  lot 
before  me  to  leave  his  home  and  go  forth  to  try 
what  the  gods  would  grant  him."  As  standing 
on  the  same  spot  he  had  lifted  his  hand  in  greeting 
to  Erna,  so  now  he  raised  it  in  farewell  to  the 
home  scene.  "  It  was  a  good  dream  while  it  lasted, 
but  I  am  glad  to  be  awake  at  last." 

Snowfrid  burst  into  tears  on  his  shoulder.  "  It 
is  a  wicked  thing  that  men  must  grow  up  and  go 
away!" 

Times  there  were  when  she  would  have  been 
shaken  off  with  severity ;  even  ,now  he  put  her 
from  him  hastily,  though  he  bent  and  kissed  her, 
bantering. 

"What  foolishness  is  here!  If  a  guardsman  had 
not  grown  up  and  gone  away  from  his  home,  where 
would  your  fun  have  come  in?" 

Rain  clouds  were,  not  so  thick  in  her  blue  eyes 
but  that  sun  shone  through  at  that.  Tiptoeing  to 
reach  his  ear,  she  whispered,  "Remind  him  of  me, 
sometimes!"  Then  hiding  her  face,  she  fled  back 
to  the  Tower;  and  he  set  forth  laughing. 

A  silvery  haze  veiled  all  but  the  path  just  be 
fore  his  feet,  so  that  he  appeared  to  be  ever  advanc 
ing  from  mystery  to  mystery.  He  would  have 

78 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

been  less  than  a  song-maker  if  it  had  not  seemed 
to  him  a  symbol  of  the  unknown  life  into  which 
he  was  entering,  if  he  had  not  given  himself  un 
reservedly  to  musing  on  his  hopes  and  fears.  His 
feet  travelled  the  trails  by  instinct  that  day,  and 
by  instinct  forded  the  streams  and  threaded  the 
marshes;  his  mind  was  travelling  the  roads  of  the 
Jarl's  Town,  fording  the  deeps  of  Brynhild's  pride, 
threading  the  maze  of  Kelvin's  temper. 

Burning  its  way  through  the  grayness,  the  sun 
came  out.  Like  a  ball  of  fire,  it  rolled  up  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  heavens.  Like  a  ball  of  fire, 
it  rolled  down  the  sky's  western  side.  Still  he 
walked  in  a  dream,  conscious  only  of  the  light  of 
his  visions.  It  was  not  until  the  hills  showed  like 
nicks  in  the  fire-ball's  rim,  and  he  had  reached  the 
last  knoll  rising  between  him  and  the  sight  of  the 
Jarl's  Town,  that  he  was  recalled  to  the  present. 

Half-way  to  the  crest  loomed  a  mass  of  cinder- 
hued  rusty-veined  rock.  Rounding  this  brought 
him  suddenly  upon  Eric  the  Page,  squatted  on  his 
heels  beside  a  patch  of  the  wintergreen  berries 
which  the  youth  of  New  Norway  valued  next  to 
honey.  In  the  process  of  adjusting  his  attention 
to  this  abrupt  demand,  the  Songsmith  stood  gaz 
ing  at  him;  but  the  youngster  scrambled  up  with 
an  involuntary  "  Odin!"  which  was  as  much  a  pray 
er  as  an  exclamation.  When,  presently,  Randvar 

79 


Randvar    the  Songsmith 

put  out  a  hand  and  lifted  him  by  his  embroid 
ered  collar,  he  began  to  talk  much  more  like  a 
small  boy  caught  robbing  a  trap  than  the  haughty 
page  of  a  jarl's  daughter. 

"Now,  foster-brother!  I  have  not  done  any 
thing.  I  did  your  bidding  with  her.  I  have  not 
done  anything,  foster-brother." 

"Plain  enough  you  have  it  before  your  mind 
what  I  ought  to  do,"  Randvar  said  with  his  short 
laugh.  Then  he  gave  him  a  slight  shake  and  let 
him  go.  "Have  it  even  as  you  have  chosen.  It 
may  be  that  I  shall  not  find  it  harder  to  forget 
you  than  you  found  it  to  forget  me."  While  his 
one  hand  quitted  the  gay  collar,  his  other  took 
toll  from  the  berry-laden  cap,  and  he  passed  on. 

That  he  should  not  be  allowed  to  forget,  however, 
he  was  able  to  guess.  It  was  no  surprise  when  the 
boy's  voice  sounded  again  at  his  elbow,  in  the 
wheedling  tone  that  was  as  familiar  as  the  gleam 
of  his  curly  head. 

"Foster-brother,  what  is  the  need  of  taking  it 
in  that  way,  either?  I  could  explain  it  with  a 
mouthful  of  words  if  you  would  listen." 

As  the  Songsmith  could  not  deny  some  curiosity 
to  hear  the  explanation,  he  allowed  his  pace  to 
slacken.  Eric  read  the  sign  quickly. 

"  You  need  not  think  it  was  lack  of  friendliness. 
As  well  as  you,  I  know  that  because  I  have  been 

80 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

able  to  get  honor  and  fine  manners  for  myself  is 
the  more  reason  why  I  ought  to  protect  and  help 
lesser  men,  and  I  have  the  intention  to  do  so. 
But  the  truth  is  that  in  these  clothes  you  look  so 
like  a  dead  tree  that  has  got  out  of  a  moss-bed 
and  walked  in  from  the  forest,  that  I  became  too 
embarrassed  at  the  thought  of  any  one's  remem 
bering  that  I  used  to  be  like  you  to  be  able  to 
think  of  aught  else.  It  was  not  until  afterwards 
that  it  crossed  my  mind  that  you  might  feel  hurt, 
and  I  got  ashamed  of  myself." 

Of  a  sudden,  Randvar  began  to  laugh  and  pulled 
the  boy  up  to  him  and  hugged  him ;  and  then  of 
a  sudden  he  frowned  and  held  him  off  at  arm's- 
length. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  is  also  the  explana 
tion  why  you  have  not  been  home  to  see  your  kins 
women  since  the  Jarl's  sister  picked  you  out  for 
her  page  three  seasons  ago, — not  because  you  do 
not  have  love  towards  them,  but  because  you  dis 
like  to  be  put  in  mind  of  the  poor  way  in  which 
you  used  to  live?" 

Eric  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  walked 
a  while  making  embarrassed  snatches  at  the  flam 
ing  sumacs  they  were  passing. 

"I  have  so  little  time,"   he  muttered  at  last. 

The  Songsmith  looked  down  at  him  severely. 
"Whether  your  dignity  takes  it  well  or  not,"  he 

81 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

said,  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  that  I  think  you  in 
a  worse  way  than  the  man  in  the  were-wolf  story. 
Every  ninth  night  it  happened  to  him  to  change 
his  man's  shape  for  a  wolf's  body,  but  never  did 
he  lose  his  man's  nature.  Even  when  his  appe 
tite  forced  him  to  prey  upon  cattle,  his  man's  eyes 
looked  out  of  the  wolf's  sockets  in  loathing.  You 
have  shed  your  forest  ways  for  these  mincing 
court  manners,  but  you  have  changed  your  man 
ful  nature  also,  that  used  to  have  honesty  in  it, 
and  love  of  kin.  I  foresee  that  as  time  goes  on 
there  will  be  a  harder  nut  to  crack  than  this  which 
we  two  have  just  had  a  hand  in." 

Enough  honesty  remained  in  the  boy  so  that 
he  showed  himself  abashed.  Again  his  voice  ca 
joled,  when  it  came  after  a  long  interval  of  silent 
plodding. 

"I  have  got  love  towards  my  kin.  I  was  going 
to  send  good  gifts  to  them  the  next  time  a  trading- 
ship  went  that  way.  I  will  send  some  back  by 
you  now,  if  you  are  willing  to  take  them.  I  sup 
pose  you  fared  hither  to  see  Starkad  set  adrift?" 

"To  see  what?"  Randvar  repeated,  losing  stern 
ness  in  surprise. 

A  change  of  subject  appeared  to  be  much  to 
Eric's  taste.  He  launched  forth  eagerly: 

"They  are  going  to  set  him  adrift  on  the  river, 
of  course.  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  not  heard 

82 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

of  it  ?  Saint  Olaf  was  disposed  of  in  that  way,  be 
cause  after  the  battle  his  foes  would  for  no  sake 
allow  him  to  be  buried  on  Norwegian  ground.  His 
friends  put  his  body  on  a  boat  and  sent  it  out  to 
sea;  and  so  bound  was  old  Starkad  to  follow  him 
in  everything,  he  gave  orders  long  ago  that  this 
should  be  his  end  also.  It  will  happen  as  soon 
as  the  sun  sets,  and  it  will  be  a  great  sight  to  see. 
I  came  over  here  myself  to  look  at  it,  since  Bryn- 
hild  has  little  need  of  pages  while  she  sits  mourn 
ing  in  her  bower." 

Randvar  made  no  answer,  for  they  came  just 
then  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  and  saw  below  them 
the  broad  river,  uncoiled  through  the  land  like  a 
Midgard  serpent  of  glittering  gold,  and  saw  beyond 
it  the  spreading  grain-fields  and  vine-clad  slopes 
of  the  Jarl's  Town,  its  light  streaks  of  stone  walls 
winding  between  dark  tree- trunks,  its  clusters  of 
brown  roofs  blotting  the  gay  autumn  foliage,  its 
clouds  of  gray  smoke  drifting  across  the  bright 
face  of  the  sky. 

Around  every  group  of  roofs  circled  broad  acres 
of  farm-land  and  pasture-land,  for  the  settlement 
was  no  straggling  line  of  cabins,  no  huddle  of 
tented  booths,  but  a  typical  Norse  town  almost  as 
prosperous  as  Nidaros  itself.  From  the  Jarl's  do 
main,  the  scores  upon  scores  of  great  estates  radiated 
like  spokes  from  a  hub,  separated  from  it  and  from 

83 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

one  another  by  stretches  of  wood  and  grassy  com 
mon,  and  bound  together  by  tree- arched  lanes  and 
broad  white  roads,  and  by  the  shining  highway  of 
the  river  with  its  stone  wharves  and  anchored  ships. 

Truly  it  was  a  wonderful  sight  to  come  upon  in 
the  midst  of  the  new-world  wilderness.  The  two 
on  the  ridge  lingered  to  gaze  at  it,  and  Randvar's 
air -castles  paled  beside  the  deeper  interest  of 
reality. 

He  said  thoughtfully:  "It  is  a  testing -place  of 
men's  mettle.  They  alone  will  get  fame  here  of 
whom  it  can  be  said  that  they  are  well-tempered.  .  .  . 
Only  by  many  accomplished  men  coming  to  a  spot 
at  one  time,  with  all  their  wealth  on  their  backs, 
could  such  a  stronghold  be  built  inside  the  space 
of  twoscore  years.  Do  you  know,  young  one,  how 
many  people  make  up  the  Town?" 

"While  I  cannot  say  for  certain,"  Eric  answered, 
"I  think  I  have  heard  it  reckoned  that  there  are 
two  thousand,  counting  in  women  and  thralls;  for 
it  is  said  that  every  one  brought  all  his  kin  and  his 
property  with  him.  That  was  not  a  little  to  take 
out  of  Norway  at  one  time.  Starkad  was  wont  to 
say  that  if  Saint  Olaf's  foes  did  get  a  great  gain 
over  him  in  the  battle  in  which  they  slew  him,  yet 
was  it  some  loss  to  them  when  so  many  of  his  fol 
lowing  preferred  rather  to  go  into  exile  than  to 
bear  the  new  rule— 

84 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

Randvar's  uplifted  hand  checked  him.  "Hush! 
I  heard  a  horn,"  he  said,  and  they  held  their 
breath  in  listening. 

For  the  first  time  they  noticed  that  the  sounds 
of  the  day  had  waned  with  its  light,  which  was 
now  almost  gone,  no  more  of  the  sun's  fiery  ball 
remaining  than  would  have  served  for  a  signal- 
light  on  the  hill- top.  Already  the  eastern  side  of 
the  trees  was  sombre  with  shadow;  and  the  lazy 
splash  of  the  river  seemed  to  fill  the  world  until, 
faint  and  sweet,  the  funeral  music  was  brought  to 
them  by  the  breeze.  Growing  momently  stronger 
with  the  emerging  of  the  train  of  sable-garbed 
horsemen  from  the  little  wood  through  which  the 
road  ran,  the  dirge  throbbed  solemnly  in  their 
ears. 

Upon  Eric  the  Page  it  seemed  to  be  borne  in 
suddenly  that  he  was  in  charge  of  a  grand  specta 
cle  with  which  to  amaze  and  delight  his  forest-bred 
companion.  He  assumed  the  responsibility  will 
ingly. 

"Now  am  I  well  pleased,"  he  said,  "that  you 
are  going  to  get  so  good  a  chance  to  see  something 
of  court  ways.  That  is  the  black  bearskin  that 
they  are  carrying  the  corpse  on.  Those  men  rid 
ing  beside  it  are  the  priests.  The  tall  haughty 
one  is  the  Bishop.  The  name  given  him  is  Mag 
nus  Fire-and-Sword,  because  he  has  the  custom  of 

85 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

burning  and  slaying  all  who  do  not  believe  as  he 
does.  The  clumsy  one  coming  last  men  call  the 
Shepherd  Priest,  because  it  was  his  lot  to  herd 
sheep  on  a  Swedish  dairy-farm  before  it  came  into 
his  head  to  be  a  holy  man.  The  leather-clad  fel 
lows  who  ride  after  him  with  bags  at  their  sad 
dle-bows  are  guards  bearing  the  treasures  that 
are  to  go  with  Starkad, — his  armor  and  his  weap 
ons  and  his  jewelled  ornaments,  even  the  gold  cir 
clet  he  wore  on  his  head.  The  new  Jarl  would 
have  it  so;  he  would  not  keep  so  much  as  a — 
That  is  he — Helvin,  Starkad 's  son — with  the  red 
hair — riding  a  black  horse — do  you  see?" 

Randvar  nodded  absently;  since  first  the  black 
horse  came  into  view,  his  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon 
its  rider. 

"He  bears  himself  as  stark  as  the  dead  man," 
he  muttered,  then  finding  that  he  was  speaking 
aloud,  shook  himself  back  to  attention. 

Wading  waist-deep  into  the  water,  the  eight 
bearers  of  the  litter  had  placed  their  burden  upon 
the  black-draped  boat  waiting  on  the  darkening 
waves.  Now  the  contents  of  the  treasure-bags 
were  handed  to  them,  piece  by  piece,  and  they 
built  with  it  a  glittering  bulwark  around  the 
moundlike  form.  Then  the  oldest  of  the  advice- 
givers,  an  old  man  gnarled  and  bald  as  an  ancient 
oak,  came  stiffly  down  the  bank  with  a  lighted 

86 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

torch  in  his  hand,  and  laid  the  flame  against  the 
rope  of  plaited  straw  that  held  the  boat  to  the 
shore. 

Leaping  out  hungrily,  the  yellow  tongues  licked 
up  the  morsel  and  reached  out  for  the  food  that 
lay  beyond,  while  the  loosened  boat  swung  gently 
from  the  land.  With  the  rush  of  wind,  the  fire 
rose  crackling  and  hissing,  and  gradually  the  sun 
set  light  was  lost  in  the  new  glare  that  filled  the 
river  valley.  Rising  as  it  rose,  and  quivering  like 
it,  rose  the  voice  of  the  dead  Jarl's  skald,  chanting 
his  death-song. 

In  the  red  glare  the  boat  slipped  seaward.  As  it 
drifted  past  them,  the  man  and  the  boy  on  the  knoll 
could  see  every  fire-lit  jewel  sparkling  and  flashing 
in  a  ring  of  splendor  around  the  form  under  the 
black  pall.  Then  it  drifted  farther,  and  once  more 
the  sunset  glory  became  visible  around  it.  By- 
and-by  it  was  no  more  than  a  star  in  the  gathering 
dusk;  and  the  old  skald's  voice — strained  thin  and 
high  in  the  effort  to  send  his  song  after  the  depart 
ing  voyager — cracked  and  broke,  and  there  was  si 
lence  on  both  sides  of  the  river. 

On  the  side  opposite  the  Town  it  was  Eric  who 
broke  the  pause,  rousing -himself  with  a  yawn  and 
a  stretch. 

"  I  declare  this  to  be  the  best  entertainment 
Starkad  ever  gave  me,"  he  remarked.  "  But  one 

87 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

cannot  be  always  enjoying  himself.  I  suppose  you 
will  pass  the  night  at  the  hostelry  before  going 
back?"  He  brushed  a  leaf  from  his  tunic  with 
Olaf's  own  elegance  of  gesture,  then  made  use  of 
Olaf's  own  oath  as  he  glimpsed  his  companion's 
face.  "By  Saint  Michael!  you  look  as  solemn  as 
though  you  were  going  to  be  buried  yourself." 

Straightening  from  the  cramped  attitude  of  the 
watcher,  the  Songsmith  shook  off  the  mood  that 
had  held  him  and  became  quietly  purposeful.  He 
said  briefly: 

"  I  go  neither  back  to  the  Tower  nor  forward  to 
the  hostelry,  but  to  join  the  Jarl's  following.  Does 
it  lie  within  your  knowledge  whether  it  is  the  cus 
tom  to  go  directly  to  him  ?  Or  should  I  speak  first 
to  one  of  those  around  him?" 

Whether  or  not  the  knowledge  lay  in  Eric,  his 
mouth  was  blocked  by  amazement;  only  horror 
could  leak  through. 

"Go  to  Helvin  Jarl  in  those  clothes!  He  would 
order  his  dogs  set  on  you!  You  look  more  like  a 
stag  than  a  man." 

It  is  likely  that  he  went  on  at  some  length,  but 
Randvar  gave  him  no  further  attention.  Making 
his  way  down  the  hill  and  across  the  bridge,  he 
came  into  the  crowd  just  beginning  to  disperse. 
His  final  decision  was  to  submit  the  question  of 
etiquette  to  Bolverk,  whose  burly  figure  had  come 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

into  sight  in  the  throng ;  but  before  he  could  reach 
the  guardsman,  his  glance  encountered  Kelvin's. 

Rigidly  erect  rode  the  young  Jarl  in  his  sable 
mourning  clothes,  his  face  an  ivory  mask  to  hide 
what  lay  beneath  it ;  but  into  his  eyes  there  leaped 
now  such  a  look  as  a  man  gnawed  by  torturing 
fear  might  give  the  man  who  brought  him  relief. 
What  the  look  meant,  the  Songsmith  did  not  ask 
himself;  he  knew  only  that  response  to  it  rose  in 
him  as  rises  a  river  in  flood- time.  Like  a  wooden 
bridge  before  a  freshet,  etiquette  was  swept  out  of 
his  thoughts. 

Pushing  between  thecourtmen,  he  made  his  way 
to  the  Jarl.  Without  speaking,  Helvin  put  out  a 
hand  and  gripped  the  deerskin  shoulder,  and  so 
rode  holding  to  it  as  Rolf's  son  walked  beside  him. 


VI 


"///  luck  is  the  end  of  ill  redes" 

— Northern  saying. 

T  was  three  weeks   later.     A  group 
of  old  fur-traders  stood  in  the  porch 
of   the  Jarl's   feasting  -  hall,  answer 
ing  in  chorus  the  remark  of  one  of 
their  number : 
"A  favorite  so  soon?     Time  is  not  allowed  to 
go  to  seed  when  a  young  man  gets  the  rule!" 
"Ah,  the  good  old  days  of  peace  and  order!" 
"More  than  ever,  now,  the  doubt  works  in  me 
whether  it  is   Kelvin's  good  training  or  his  bad 
temper  that  will  be  uppermost." 

"It  is  not  to  be  looked  for  that  he  will  get  tame 
counsel  from  his  new  friend,"  returned  the  man 
who  had  spoken  first.  "  My  son,  who  brought  the 
tidings  home  last  week,  says  that  already  the 
forester  has  fought  with  Olaf,  Thorgrim's  son,  and 
so  won  his  way  to  great  love  with  the  young  court- 
men,  who  are  all  jealous  of  Olaf's  favor  with  Star- 
kad's  daughter." 

90 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

The  chorus  interrupted  him,  growling  in  their 
beards. 

"Though  he  came  off  with  honor  from  the 
young  men,  still  it  is  not  settled  that  he  will  fare 
in  the  same  way  with  us!" 

"No  man  has  brought  back  such  accomplish 
ments  as  Olaf  the  French— 

"It  is  plain  in  everything  that  little  good  will 
come  from  this  sea-rover's  son — 

"  I  am  getting  curious  to  see  him." 

"You  will  not  have  to  wait  long — 

"  As  soon  as  this  pine-mast  of  a  hunter  gets  out 
of  the  road— 

That  was  not  very  soon  for  a  great  throng  was 
ahead  of  the  hunter,  and  no  hurrying  or  struggling 
competition  marked  their  progress,  since  the  course 
of  a  river  between  its  banks  is  not  more  fixed  than 
was  the  place  of  each.  Dropping  out  or  pushing 
on,  they  settled  leisurely  into  orderly  rows  upon 
the  long  benches  against  the  wainscot  —  advice- 
givers  and  courtmen  and  guards  along  the  southern 
wall,  priests  and  lawmen  and  land-owners  along 
the  northern,  the  eastern  cross-bench  for  women 
guests,  the  western  for  the  women  of  the  court, 
such  small-fry  as  armorers  and  harpers  and  tum 
blers  filling  the  draughty  corners  by  the  doors. 
The  time  came  at  last,  however,  when  the  hunter's 
tow  head  brushed  under  the  lintel;  and  pushing 
7  91 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

after  him,  the  traders  came  into  the  cheer  of  the 
heir's  inheritance  feast. 

Gone  was  the  darkness  and  coldness  arid  silence 
of  mourning  that  for  three  Norse  weeks  had  brood 
ed  over  the  mighty  pillared  hall.  Once  more,  the 
light  of  fragrant  juniper  torches  played  upon  pict 
ured  tapestry  and  garlanded  column.  Once  more, 
the  round  gilded  shields  hanging  above  the  benches 
were  turned  into  so  many  suns  by  the  ruddy  glow 
of  fires  leaping  on  the  stone  hearths  down  the 
middle  of  the  long  nave.  At  the  white-spread 
tables  that  formed  an  oblong  around  the  fires,  the 
gorgeous  feasting  dresses  of  the  court-folk  made 
streaks  of  rainbow  color  through  the  brightness. 

Running  his  eye  up  the  line  of  the  southern  wall, 
the  trader  who  had  spoken  last  said  over  his 
shoulder:  "Yonder  he  is,  on  Kelvin's  left,  as  was 
to  be  expected." 

He  might  have  done  better  to  say,  "on  the  left 
of  the  high-seat,"  whose  towering  carven  posts 
marked  plainly  its  place  midway  the  length  of  the 
hall,  for  the  heir  was  in  no  way  conspicuous  in  the 
line  of  his  guests  as  he  sat  on  the  footstool  of  the 
ruler's  seat,  awaiting  the  ceremony  which  should 
elevate  him  to  its  empty  cushions.  But  the 
traders  found  the  spot  at  once  where  the  new  face 
looked  out  over  the  scene,  and  they  studied  it 
critically  as  they  moved  forward. 

92 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

What  they  saw  was  a  superbly  proportioned 
young  fellow  of  four-and- twenty,  rising  as  erectly 
tall  beside  the  guardsmen  as  a  pine-tree  beside 
oaks.  Level  as  pine  branches  was  the  line  of  his 
thick  dark  brows,  and  no  gold  but  the  sun's  glow 
ing  burnish  was  on  the  mass  of  hair  that  shadowed 
his  sun-ripened  face.  Of  the  might  of  the  primeval 
wastes  and  of  the  wilderness's  virile  beauty,  he  was 
expressive.  One  of  the  old  men  spoke  for  them 
all  when  he  said: 

"  Since  Helvin,  Starkad's  son,  has  been  likened  to 
a  captive  eagle,  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  call  this 
fellow  an  eagle  of  the  foreet  that  has  come  to  perch 
beside  him  because  of  a  kinship  between  their 
natures.  The  Fates  alone  can  tell  what  will  come 
of  such  a  partnership!"  Doubt  was  heavy  in  the 
wagging  of  their  heads  as  they  turned  away  to 
follow  the  overseer  of  guests  to  the  seats  appointed 
them. 

Following  after  them  went  the  eyes  of  Randvar 
the  Songsmith.  Though  their  words  had  not  car 
ried  across  the  fire,  their  scrutiny  had,  so  that  grad 
ually  his  mouth  took  on  a  satirical  twist.  Pres 
ently  he  spoke  to  the  heir  on  the  footstool — spoke 
without  having  been  spoken  to — to  the  indigna 
tion  of  the  old  counsellors  on  the  right  of  the  high- 
seat. 

"  Lord,  when  I  see  how  your  people  stare  at  me 
93 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

as  at  a  black  Jotun,  I  realize  it  is  not  a  dream  that 
I  am  in  your  court.  Other  times  it  seems  to  me 
as  if  I  must  be  lying  on  the  cedar  branches  by  the 
Tower  fire  and  imagining  what  I  should  wish  to 
happen." 

To  the  added  displeasure  of  the  old  chieftains, 
Helvin  justified  the  familiarity  by  returning  it. 
He  had  been  sitting  with  his  chin  on  his  hand,  a 
figure  of  weary  splendor  in  his  furred  and  jewelled 
dress  of  state ;  now  he  straightened  and  resting  his 
elbow  on  the  seat-cushion,  entered  into  conversa 
tion  with  the  son  of  the  sea-rover, — it  was  fortunate 
that  the  old  men  could  not  also  hear  his  frank 
remarks. 

"Your  luck  is  great,  Songsmith,  that  you  can 
get  interest  out  of  this.  Just  before  you  spoke,  I 
was  thinking  that  though  I  were  blindfolded,  I 
should  still  be  able  to  describe  every  tapestry  on 
the  walls,  put  every  man,  woman,  and  thrall  in 
place,  count  up  every  dish  and  goblet  and  knife  on 
the  table.  At  times,  when  I  sat  where  you  sit 
now,  I  used  to  amuse  myself  by  rearranging  the 
people  in  my  imagination,  beginning  by  putting 
yonder  fat-chopped  buffoon  in  the  proud  priest's 
place.  I  can  tell  you  that  it  came  the  nearest  to 
making  sport  of  anything  I  have  had  in  this  hall." 

The  song-maker's  smile  came  readily  as  he 
glanced  across  at  the  high-seat  of  the  northern 

94 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

wall,  which  had  been  held  during  Starkad's  time 
by  that  warrior  -  bishop  of  Saint  Olaf  who  was 
known  as  Magnus  Fire-and-Sword,  but  which  now 
awaited  in  emptiness  the  pleasure  of  the  new 
ruler. 

"It  will  be  rearranging  them  in  earnest  this 
time,  Jarl.  Lord,  is  it  possible  that  you  do  not 
feel  the  excitement  in  the  air  as  every  person  here 
draws  breath  with  hope  or  fear  of  your  rule  ?  The 
force  of  their  eyes  upon  you  is  like  the  beat  of 
waves  upon  the  shore." 

As  brand  from  brand,  the  face  of  the  Jarl's  son 
kindled  ;  but  before  he  was  ready  to  reply,  the  Song- 
smith's  glance  had  flown  past  him  and  lighted  on 
the  eastern  door. 

Through  the  broad  portal  was  advancing  a  train 
of  court-women,  walking  far  apart  because  of  the 
trailing  length  of  their  silken  robes,  stately  matrons 
with  towering  head-dresses,  and  white-armed  maid 
ens  whose  bright  tresses  fell  free  from  golden  bands, 
and  moving  before  them — the  jewel  for  whom  all 
their  splendor  was  but  a  setting  —  Brynhild  the 
Proud,  bending  now  her  queenly  head  to  the  greet 
ing  of  some  old  warrior,  now  yielding  a  smile  to 
some  young  courtman's  eager  salute. 

It  was  the  first  glimpse  Randvar  had  had  of  her 
since  that  day  in  the  forest,  so  rigidly  had  mourn 
ing  custom  secluded  her  in  her  bower.  As  a  man 

95 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

who  has  lived  long  on  a  memory,  he  drank  thirst 
ily  of  the  wine  of  her  beauty,  felt  it  course  hotly 
through  his  veins.  He  was  still  leaning  forward 
when  he  felt  the  Jarl's  gaze  upon  him,  and  knew 
that  his  face  had  betrayed  him.  In  confusion  he 
dropped  his  eyes. 

Helvin  said  dryly:  "It  is  seen  that  you  did  not 
reject  my  sister's  favor  because  you  did  not  find 
her  good  to  look  upon,  Songsmith." 

Randvar  overcame  enough  of  his  embarrassment 
to  mutter  that  no  one  could  find  her  otherwise. 

The  Jarl's  son  shook  his  head  as  he  watched  his 
sister  advance.  "Here  you  may  see  how  much 
man  differs  from  man.  To  Olaf,  Thorgrim's  son, 
yonder,  she  looks  like  the  goddess  Sif  after  the 
dwarfs  wove  her  hair  of  red  gold,  as  no  doubt  he 
is  telling  her  now  with  his  smile.  To  me" — he 
turned  wearily  as  her  approach  made  rising  in 
cumbent —  "to  me  she  looks  only  like  a  rune 
standing  for  a  life  I  hate."  Rising,  he  faced  her 
with  cold  civility. 

Splendid  in  her  feasting  dress  of  shining  gold 
color,  she  came  towards  them,  bent  in  a  deep 
courtesy  before  the  high- seat,  mocked  the  lowliness 
of  the  salutation  by  the  loftiness  to  which  she  rose. 

"  Brother,"  she  said,  "will  you  grant  me  a  boon 
which  I  would  beg  of  you?" 

He  answered:  "Grant  it  I  would  before  it  were 
96 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

asked  if  I  were  not  desirous  to  hear  how  you  would 
beg;  but  what  is  it  you  wish?" 

Her  white  lids  drooped  haughtily.  "  It  is  known 
far  and  wide,  brother,  how  you  hate  formalities, 
so  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  you  will  hold  to 
them  now  that  you  can  do  what  you  like  about 
everything.  What  I  want  is  your  leave  to  retire 
with  my  women  as  soon  as  the  amusements  begin. 
I  dislike  brawling  freedom." 

Curling  like  the  petals  of  a  rose,  her  beautiful 
lips  curved  disdainfully.  Kelvin's  smoke -gray 
eyes  showed  a  spark  as  they  rested  on  her. 

"It  is  well  that  my  face  is  not  set  against  what 
you  ask,  kinswoman,"  he  said,  "for  your  way  of 
entreating  would  be  unlikely  to  move  a  man  to 
much  gentleness.  This  I  grant  you  willingly,  that 
you  may  leave  as  soon  as  any  brawling  begins." 

She  thanked  him  in  the  formal  phrase,  and  mock 
ing  him  again  with  the  bend  of  courtly  submission, 
made  as  though  she  would  have  passed  on.  Then, 
seemingly  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  the  deerskin- 
clad  figure  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  high-seat, 
and  paused  to  look  him  up  and  down  in  displeasure. 

"  Greeting,  Randvar,  Rolf's  son,  and  welcome  to 
you!"  she  said.  "Yet  I  think,  after  all,  you  would 
have  done  better  to  take  service  with  me,  if  my 
brother's  generosity  towards  you  is  to  be  meas 
ured  by  the  clothes  you  wear." 

97 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Deep  in  the  cave  of  his  breast,  Randvar  felt  his 
temper  stir  like  a  sleeping  bear;  but  craving  a 
smile  from  her  starry  eyes,  he  made  an  attempt  at 
conciliation. 

"  I  had  thought  you  would  guess,  gold-bright 
maiden,  that  it  is  the  Jarl's  forbearance  which  lets 
me  be  slow  in  shedding  my  bark." 

The  tilt  of  her  chin  showed  how  little  his  dep 
recation  had  helped  him. 

"An  economical  virtue  is  the  Jarl's  forbear 
ance,"  she  said,  "and  Freya's  son  is  more  than 
expectedly  dull  at  learning  what  beseems  him." 

The  bear  awoke  then  with  a  snarl.  Randvar 
gasped  afterwards  at  remembering  what  he  would 
have  answered  if  Helvin  had  not  taken  the  word, 
laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Do  not  grudge  me  one  plain  man,  my  kins 
woman,  while  you  have  so  many  gay  ones  at  your 
beck.  It  is  at  my  desire  he  has  kept  on  the  wood 
land  garb ;  that  seeing  how  different  the  outside  of 
him  is  from  all  around  me,  I  may  ever  be  reminded 
how  much  of  new  interest  I  have  found  inside  him." 

Too  courtly  was  she  bred  to  dispute  a  ruler's 
whim;  to  that  she  gave  prompt  if  haughty  ac 
quiescence. 

"In  this  as  in  everything,  it  must  be  done  as 
you  wish,  brother,  only  I  take  it  upon  me  to  urge 
you  to  show  us  the  inside  of  him  as  soon  as  you 

98 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

can,"  she  made  answer.  Then  she  passed  on;  and 
her  women  went  rustling  by,  moving  to  laughter 
as  to  music. 

Randvar's  bitter  reflections  were  interrupted  by 
the  pressure  of  Kelvin's  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  If  I  had  not  taken  the  word  out  of  your  mouth, 
my  friend,"  the  Jarl  said  in  his  ear,  "your  hot 
head  would  have  got  you  into  further  difficulties; 
but  I  like  you  none  the  worse  for  that.  I  liked  it 
less  when  I  thought  that  after  the  manner  of  all 
other  men,  you  were  going  to  fall  on  your  knees 
to  her  only  because  she  is  beautiful  of  face.  It 
would  have  been  the  first  matter  in  which  our 
minds  did  not  match  as  blade  matches  sheath. 
So  long  as  you  have  manfulness  enough  to  resent 
her  pride,  I  forgive  it  to  you  that  her  fairness  has 
bewitched  your  eyes." 

Again  embarrassment  left  the  song-maker  speech 
less.  Under  the  JarFs  hand  he  stood  so  constrain 
edly  that  the  old  men  who  were  watching  imagined 
him  to  be  cast  down  by  some  rebuke,  and  experi 
enced  a  sense  of  satisfaction.  And  their  relief  was 
no  greater  than  his  when  the  duties  of  the  heir's 
station  put  an  end  to  further  confidences. 

Bearing  the  baton  of  state,  two  pages  advanced 
and  took  their  place  before  the  Jarl's  son.  While 
one  received  his  sword  from  him  with  many  flour 
ishes,  the  other  delivered  to  him  the  gilded  wand. 

99 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

Stretching  it  forth,  a  bar  of  light,  he  gave  the  signal 
for  the  feasting  to  begin. 

Like  white -robed  statues  called  to  life,  the 
thralls  waiting  at  the  doors  moved  forward  with 
their  burdens  of  gilded  flagons  and  silver  chargers. 
Through  the  fragrance  of  the  juniper  torches  and 
the  pine-tips  of  the  floor-covering  rose  the  savor 
of  roasted  meats  and  the  spicy  aroma  of  mead  and 
wine.  To  the  hum  of  blended  voices  was  added 
the  clink  of  silver-rimmed  horns.  The  oftener  the 
resounding  salute  rang  out,  the  louder  the  hum 
arose,  the  merrier  the  laughter  that  burst  forth 
where  groups  of  young  men  were  scattered  among 
the  old  ones  like  poppies  among  wheat. 

No  higher  note  of  noisy  revelry  was  left  to  strike 
when  at  last  the  moment  came  for  the  old  advice- 
giver,  Mord,  to  lead  the  heir  up  into  his  father's 
seat  and  put  in  his  hands  the  sacred  horn  that  he 
might  make  his  inheritance -vow.  From  high 
mirth  they  passed  to  deep  feeling,  as  each  man 
rose  holding  his  shining  horn  above  his  head.  Ex 
citement  shook  some  of  the  young  hands  so  that 
their  wine  was  spilled  —  excitement  and  exulta 
tion  at  the  spectacle  of  a  young  ruler  in  the  high- 
seat! — and  to  some  of  the  old  eyes  tears  came  un 
consciously,  so  that  they  seemed  to  look  through 
a  mist  at  the  figure  of  their  old  leader's  son. 

Noble  in  splendor  was  Helvin  Jarl  as  the  fire- 

100 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

light  caught  the  golden  embroideries  and  jewelled 
clasps  of  his  sweeping  robes ;  and  noble  in  purpose 
was  his  pale  finely  cut  face  under  the  mass  of 
blood-red  hair  when  he  raised  the  great  horn  and 
spoke  so  that  all  could  hear  him. 

"  I  drink  the  toast  to  the  old  gods  and  to  the 
new,"  he  said,  "and  to  those  who  have  gone  before 
me ;  but  the  vow  I  make  is  no  vow  that  I  shall  be 
great.  What  I  promise  is  that  I  shall  make  no 
other  man  small.  I  take  oath  that  under  my  rule 
every  man  shall  live  a  free  life  in  all  such  matters 
as  concern  himself,  nor  shall  any  be  forced  into 
ways  against  which  his  mind  rebels.  I  take  Heaven 
and  all  of  you  as  witnesses!"  Putting  the  horn  to 
his  lips,  he  drank. 

Mechanically,  the  ranks  of  standing  men  imi 
tated  the  motion,  their  eyes  continuing  to  stare 
at  him  over  their  cup  rims.  But  before  the 
draught  was  down,  the  call  of  free  blood  to  free 
blood  had  been  heard.  From  young  courtmen 
and  young  guardsmen  went  up  ringing  cheers.  It 
counted  for  little  that  some  of  the  lawmen  mur 
mured,  and  Magnus  Fire-and-Sword  spoke  to  his 
neighbor  from  under  a  frown. 

Only  the  Jarl  noticed  that,  and  noticing,  smiled 
mockingly.  When  the  tumult  had  sunk  once 
more  he  spoke,  the  smile  dwindling  to  a  droop  of 
his  mouth-corner. 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"The  first  thing  that  I  must  try  my  hand  on  is 
the  filling  of  the  other  high-seat  with  the  man  I 
hold  highest  in  honor.  That  would  be  to  take  a 
great  deal  on  my  hands  if  custom  did  not  say  that 
he  must  be  a  holy  man,  which  makes  the  choice 
easy." 

He  paused  to  clear  his  throat  with  a  swallow  of 
wine,  and  perhaps  to  note  how  the  arrogant  face 
of  Magnus  was  losing  some  of  its  displeasure. 
Then  he  went  on,  his  voice  so  cool  and  keen  that 
it  bit  like  a  blade: 

"As  for  you,  priests,  I  know  only  one  of  you 
for  whom  I  have  any  honor  at  all.  I  have  heard 
many  talk  of  the  mercy  of  Christ,  whose  hands  had 
cut  blood-eagles  in  other  men  only  for  being  un 
able  to  believe  as  they  did.  I  have  heard  not  a 
few  talk  of  Christ's  humbleness  whose  tempers 
were  so  overbearing  that  men  would  have  risen 
up  and  slain  them  if  they  had  not  held  up  their 
holy  names  for  shields.  I  have  seen  many  Odin- 
men  who  put  on  the  Christ-faith  like  a  kirtle,  but 
I  have  seen  only  one  who  made  it  a  part  of  his 
nature  and  showed  it  forth  in  his  acts.  He  is  the 
Swede  whom  men  call  the  Shepherd  Priest.  It  is 
my  offer  and  will  that  he  shall  come  forward  and 
take  the  place  opposite  me." 

At  the  eastern  end  of  the  room,  in  the  lowliest 
seat  by  the  door,  a  man  rose  hastily — an  ungainly 

102 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

old  man  in  rusty  robes — and  lifted  a  hand  in  pro 
test;  and  in  the  same  instant  the  stately  velvet- 
draped  form  of  Magnus  became  wrathfully  erect 
before  his  place. 

"This  —  this  is  sacrilege!"  he  thundered.  "I 
call  all  Christian  men  to  resist  this  mockery— 
this—" 

"  Sacrilege  ?"  The  young  Jarl's  voice  pierced  like 
a  spear,  scorn-barbed.  "This  I  have  often  said, 
that  it  was  a  sacrilege  that  you  should  give  rein 
to  a  devil's  nature  in  the  name  of  Christ!  That  I 
honor  the  cause  by  honoring  the  man  who  stands 
most  truly  for  it — be  he  king-born  or  thrall-born — 
that  is  honesty.  Had  you  any  love  of  your  faith 
amid  your  self-love,  you  would  see  it." 

If  the  rage-purpled  face  of  the  Fire-and-Sword 
had  not  been  the  face  of  a  bishop,  they  might  have 
thought  it  the  face  of  a  Berserker.  The  names 
which  he  called  his  godson  were  the  names  that 
fighting-men  use  when  their  tempers  pressed  hard 
est  for  relief.  Upon  the  openest- minded  of  the 
old  counsellors  was  forced  slowly  a  doubt  whether 
there  really  was  much  holiness  about  him ;  and  the 
young  men  broke  loose  and  drowned  his  voice  in 
hisses. 

But  Helvin  Jarl  rose  in  his  high-seat,  his  glance 
like  the  outleaping  of  flame. 

"I  am  all  that  which  you  call  me,  and  more," 
103 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

he  said,  "and  it  is  because  I  am — because  I  need 
only  to  bring  forward  the  straits  I  have  fallen  in 
to  prove  what  kind  of  harvests  spring  from  your 
sowing — that  I  vow  you  shall  never  sow  again  while 
my  rule  is  in  New  Norway.  In  the  spring,  ships 
shall  take  you  back  whence  you  came;  meanwhile, 
come  you  no  more  before  my  face,  hypocrite  that 
you  are  to  your  marrow!" 

Starkad's  own  inexorableness  in  the  gesture, 
he  levelled  his  baton  at  the  door;  then  before  the 
aghast  silence  could  give  rise  to  any  sign,  he  turned 
where  the  Shepherd  Priest  waited  and  spoke  to 
him  respectfully  and  yet  sternly. 

"You  whose  sincereness  has  won  my  honor, 
bear  in  mind  that  cowardice  no  less  than  arro 
gance  is  love  of  self.  If  your  faith  is  indeed  first 
with  you,  remember  that  I  offer  you  a  chance 
to  do  great  work  for  it,  and  forget  any  lesser 
thing." 

With  the  ceasing  of  his  voice  there  was  again 
silence,  but  the  Shepherd  Priest  made  no  attempt 
to  use  it  for  his  protests.  After  a  time  he  lifted 
his  bent  head,  and  his  rugged  face  was  as  a 
mean  lantern  through  which  a  light  is  shining. 
Amid  breathless  stillness,  the  velvet-clad  form  of 
Magnus  stalked  out  of  the  western  door,  and  the 
ungainly  form  in  rusty  black  walked  slowly  to  the 
northern  high-seat,  walking  uncertainly  like  a  man 

104 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

in  the  dark,  holding  to  his  crucifix  as  to  a  guid 
ing  hand. 

Again  the  Jarl  forestalled  an  outburst,  speaking 
once  more  with  the  graciousness  of  a  noble  heir  on 
his  inheritance-night. 

"One  thing  more  I  wish  to  tell  you,  then  I  will 
no  longer  hinder  you  from  your  amusements.  It 
has  to  do  with  the  Skraellings.  Always  it  has 
seemed  to  me  that  much  good  might  come  of 
having  them  for  partners  in  this  business  of  set 
tling  the  new  lands,  and  now  I  have  heard  that 
of  them  which  makes  me  want  them  also  for 
friends.  So  have  I  sent  a  message  to  their  lord 
which  asks  him  to  meet  me  ten  days  hence  at  some 
middle  point  between  our  abodes,  and  over  a 
feast  talk  about  how  we  can  get  good  from  each 
other.  That  is  the  end  of  my  speaking." 

It  was  the  beginning  of  uproar.  All  at  once 
the  half-dozen  old  traders,  who  had  entered  the 
hall  in  such  doubting  humor,  rose  to  their  feet, 
swung  their  horns  above  their  heads  and  cried 
as  with  one  voice: 

"I  drink  to  Kelvin  Jarl!" 

Then:  "Young  blood  for  gainfulness !" 

"  New  ways  for  new — 

"  Down  with  old  boundaries— 

' '  Spread  out !     Spread  out ! " 

"Luck  to  the  new  rule!" 
105 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

The  new  step  being  approved  by  such  undoubted 
authorities,  the  other  old  men  joined  for  the  first 
time  in  the  applause;  while  the  young  men  were 
brought  to  the  point  of  handling  their  cups  like 
gavels,  and  one  whose  wine  did  not  sit  well  upon 
his  wits  clambered  upon  the  seat  and  began  to 
use  shields  from  the  wall  for  cymbals.  Even  to 
the  women's  cross-bench  it  sped.  Eagerly  Yrsa 
the  Lovely  spoke  to  her  young  mistress  by  whom 
she  sat. 

"Jarl's  sister,  do  you  call  to  mind  how  fair  and 
fine  we  thought  that  bead  -  embroidery  we  saw 
last  trading-day?  Now  we  can  get  a  Skraelling 
woman  to  teach  us  how  to  do  it,— if  so  be  there  are 
women  among  them,"  she  added  doubtfully. 

It  seemed  that  Brynhild  spoke  because  she  had 
been  addressed  rather  than  because  she  heeded 
what  was  said  to  her.  Fingering  her  jewelled  neck 
lace,  she  continued  frowning  at  the  fire. 

"Never  saw  I  aught  to  equal  it,"  she  said. 
"That  Magnus  should  behave  so  boorishly—  And 
yet  that  we  should  have  a  thrall  -  born  bishop — 
And  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  Helvin  behaved  well- 
It  must  be  that  the  earth  is  coming  loose  from  its 
moorings!" 

From  her  place  farther  down  the  line,  the  pretty 
matron  who  had  laughed  at  the  forester  bent  for 
ward  urgently.  "Jarl's  sister,  is  it  your  will  that 

106 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

we  should  take  our  leave  now?  The  amusements 
are  beginning.  Yonder  deerskin  fellow  has  just 
beckoned  to  the  harp-bearer. ' '  She  motioned  with 
her  lace-crowned  head.  Brynhild's  gaze,  however, 
did  not  follow  the  motion,. but  remained  upon  her, 
gathering  displeasure. 

"Deerskin  fellow!"  she  repeated.  "Is  it  in  that 
manner,  Sigrid,  that  you  speak  of  Freya's  son? 
However  he  forgets  it  himself,  it  behooves  you  to 
remember  that  he  has  king's  blood  in  him."  Ar 
ranging  her  gold-colored  draperies  about  her  and 
settling  to  formal  attention,  she  finished  severely: 
"  Had  he  no  blood  at  all,  a  song-maker  has  the 
right  to  courteous  treatment.  I  expect  that  you 
will,  all  of  you,  leave  off  chattering  and  give  him  the 
attention  due  a  man  of  accomplishments."  When 
she  had  seen  her  orders  carried  out,  she  fixed  her 
eyes  calmly  upon  the  spot  where  Randvar  stood 
beside  the  towering  gilded  harp  of  the  court-skald. 

The  Songsmith 's  heart  leaped  and  tried  to  stran 
gle  him  as  he  met  her  gaze,  yet  it  was  not  long 
that  his  hands  swept  aimlessly  across  the  strings. 
In  him  had  awakened  a  desire  to  interpret  to  these 
folk  of  Norse  blood  the  lives  of  the  forest  men, 
whose  creed  was  so  like  theirs  in  strong  simplicity. 

Soon  he  struck  a  chord  and  sang  with  a  voice 
as  untaught  as  a  bird's,  and  as  full  of  unconscious 
ecstasy,  the  story  of  the  Skraelling  chief  who  gave 
s  107 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

his  life  to  save  his  followers  from  the  wrath  of  their 
offended  god. 

Singing,  he  forgot  that  he  sang  among  strangers. 
Listening,  they  forgot  that  he  told  a  stranger's 
story;  as  at  the  deeds  of  a  brother,  their  minds 
quickened  with  understanding.  A  stillness  gath 
ered  over  the  room  that  lasted  even  after  the  song 
was  ended,  and  was  broken  only  when  cries  for 
more  rose  from  every  direction. 

But  it  was  not  their  applause  that  was  the 
crown  of  his  success.  It  was  turning  to  find  little 
Eric  standing  beside  him — bewildered  and  ruffled 
—holding  out  an  arm-ring  of  golden  filigree,  say 
ing  as  one  repeating  a  lesson : 

"Starkad's  daughter  bids  you  cover  some  of  the 
deerskin  with  this." 


VII 


"  The  tongue  is  the  bane  of  the  head  " 

— Northern  saying. 

T  was  a  fantastic  scene,  the  wilds  of 
a  forest  river  -  bank  turned  into  a 
guest-house  for  court-folk.  Athwart 
the  living  green  of  the  pines,  camp- 
fires  sent  their  spirals  of  blue  smoke, 
and  groups  of  thralls  made  white  rings  around  the 
blaze  as  they  roasted  the  game  and  heated  the 
wine  with  which  pages  skimmed  to  and  fro.  Down 
by  the  sparkling  water,  knots  of  old  chieftains  and 
young  courtmen  divided  their  time  between  eating 
and  gazing  across  the  stream  at  the  Skraellings' 
encampment  of  the  opposite  shore.  Back  among 
the  trees,  where  the  drifted  leaves  had  been  heaped 
into  cushions  of  russet  and  gold,  groups  of  gentle 
women  chatted  as  merrily  amid  the  great  stillness 
as  though  they  were  among  the  whirring  wheels  of 
their  own  bower.  Still  farther  up  the  brown  slope 
and  deeper  in  the  grove,  Helvin  Jarl,  in  his  splen 
did  riding  dress  of  gold-embroidered  green,  sat  upon 
a  heap  of  bowlders  over  which  red  wolfskins  had 

109 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

been  thrown,  his  song-maker  lounging  beside  him, 
wild-locked  and  wild-garbed  as  a  creature  of  the 
wood,  except  for  the  harp  at  his  back. 

Randvar  had  finished  eating  and  was  staring 
contentedly  at  nothing.  Over  the  forest  lay  the 
hush  of  that  strange  season  which  falls  like  a 
breathless  pause  in  the  brisk  round  of  the  autumn. 
Dropped  suddenly  motionless  were  the  winds  that 
had  been  lashing  the  trees  like  mighty  flails;  and 
as  a  conjuror  changes  knives  to  roses,  so  had  the 
keen  cold  of  the  morning  been  changed  to  balmy 
warmth  by  the  red  noon  sun.  A  fancy  came  to 
him  that  the  golden  haze  veiling  the  end  of  every 
tree-aisle  was  the  visible  shape  of  a  dream  in  the 
air. 

"It  feels  like  noon-spell  in  harvest- time,"  he 
said  aloud.  "  I  think  the  earth  has  worked  so 
hard  that  it  has  fallen  asleep  and  dreams  now  of 
the  summer." 

"Say  the  same  thing  later  on  when  the  day  is 
at  an  end,"  Helvin  answered.  "To  me  it  feels 
like  a  devil's  fit  of  repentance.  After  his  spite 
has  been  for  weeks  like  a  rasp  in  the  air,  and  his 
fury  has  torn  all  within  reach,  he  tires  of  his  rage — 
for  a  day  or  two — holds  his  peace  and  puts  on  a 
watery  smile." 

Even  while  the  song-making  part  of  Randvar 
smiled  approval  of  the  figure,  his  woodsman's 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

alertness  detected  something  odd  about  the  voice 
in  which  the  words  were  uttered.  Sideways  he 
sent  a  glance  at  his  lord. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  also  something 
odd  about  Kelvin's  expression;  but  he  had  no 
chance  to  scrutinize  it  for  on  the  instant  it  was 
gone,  while  the  Jarl  caught  his  look  and  chal 
lenged  it. 

"  Why  do  you  stare  as  if  you  saw  a  hedge-rider?" 

"Lord,  your  voice  sounded  as  though  it  came 
hard  for  you  to  breathe,"  Randvar  answered  after 
a  moment. 

Kelvin's  words  leaped  out  like  tigers  from  a 
cage.  "Why  should  it  not?  in  this  smothering 
stillness  where  even  the  trees  are  holding  their 
breath  to  listen  for  something.  Oh,  for  the  plains ! 
the  plains!  where  the  wind  blows,  and  a  man  can 
see  all  around  him,  and  not  so  much  as  a  ghost 
can  creep  on  him  unawares!  It  is  a  trap,  this 
forest  of  yours;  and  every  rank  of  trees  is  a  wall 
to  shut  one  tighter  in  with  his  thoughts.  Had  I 
an  axe  ready  to  my  hand,  and  the  might  in  my 
arm—" 

Even  as  it  seemed  that  his  body  would  be  wrung 
by  a  violent  gesture,  he  caught  himself;  and  his 
voice  slackened  to  a  mocking  drawl.. 

"What  a  good  thing  it  is  that  I  have  three  wise- 
minded  old  ravens  to  make  sport  for  me!  Hither 

in 


Randvar   the   Songsmith 

they  wing  their  way  now  to  give  me  final  advice 
in  this  treaty-making.  Odin  be  thanked,  it  will 
not  be  long  before  we  are  on  the  move!  Yonder 
my  kinswoman's  hand  sends  a  summons  to  you, 
Songsmith.  Go,  sting  Olaf's  jealousy  again.  The 
entertainment  I  have  in  torturing  him,  teaches  me 
for  the  first  time  why  Starkad  had  delight  in  bear- 
baiting." 

In  words  now  as  well  as  voice,  he  was  strange  to 
his  song-maker.  Randvar  mused  on  it  as  he  de 
scended  the  slope;  again  the  feeling  that  he  was 
wakening  from  a  dream  came  over  him. 

"  Seldom  have  I  experienced  such  strange  things 
in  my  sleep  as  I  have  done  since  that  day  at  the 
Black  Pool,"  he  murmured;  then  as  his  wandering 
gaze  fell  upon  the  group  before  him,  he  finished 
contentedly:  "  But  if  it  be  a  dream,  it  must  be  said 
that  it  is  a  good  one." 

Surrounded  by  her  band  of  comely  women,  with 
the  elegant  Olaf  outstretched  before  her,  the  Jarl's 
sister  sat  enthroned  on  the  slope  at  the  foot  of  an 
ancient  oak.  The  masses  of  bronze  foliage  still 
clinging  around  the  base  of  the  mighty  limbs,  spread 
like  a  canopy  above  her.  The  huge  trunk  was  as 
a  background  for  her  rounded  form  in  its  kirtle 
of  wine-red,  gold-embroidered;  against  the  black 
bark,  her  hair  was  as  a  spot  of  golden  fire.  The 
song-maker  saw  neither  Yrsa's  pretty  smile  of 

112 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

welcome  nor  the  shrug  of  Thorgrim's  son  when 
their  mistress  greeted  him  graciously. 

"Make  me  a  song  in  tune  with  the  forest,  Song- 
smith,"  she  requested.  "Olaf's  French  ballads 
that  chime  so  well  with  my  bower  sound  in  this 
place  like  the  tinkling  of  bells,  though  I  would  not 
seem  thankless  in  saying  so." 

Olaf  rose  and  acknowledged  playfully  the  apolo 
getic  gesture  she  made  him. 

"Be  in  no  fear  of  hurting  my  feelings,  madam, 
by  preferring  his  songs  over  mine,"  he  said.  "I 
have  amusement  in  trifling  with  the  singing-craft, 
as  becomes  a  high-born  man ;  but  to  do  such  work 
seriously  is  the  portion  of  churls." 

She  took  back  the  conciliating  hand  to  fold  it 
on  the  other  in  her  lap,  and  spoke  a  trifle  haughtily. 
"  In  France,  it  may  be  so,  beausire.  Among  Norse 
men,  skald  ship  has  always  been  held  in  honor.  If 
the  truth  must  be  told,  I  am  in  best  tune  with  Norse 
ways." 

"Then  will  I  take  away  the  discordant  note  of 
my  presence,"  he  said,  and  smiled  at  her  quiz 
zically  as  he  turned.  But  he  was  not  so  unscathed 
that  his  eyes  could  pass  the  Songsmith  as  they 
encountered  him;  there,  with  his  will  or  without 
it,  they  froze.  "Unless,"  he  added,  "the  forester 
has  the  wish  to  make  some  reply  to  me." 

Time  was  when  the  forester  would  have  replied 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

with  the  tongue  of  his  snake -skin  scabbard,  but 
he  was  not  dull  in  learning  new  ways.  Almost  his 
smile  was  a  match  for  Olaf's  as  he  answered: 

"To  what  end  should  I  do  that,  courtman?  It 
is  not  for  the  contented  moon  to  bark  at  the 
jealous  dog." 

It  was  not  only  Thorgrim's  son  who  drew  breath 
quickly,  then;  every  maiden  of  the  group  caught 
hers  with  a  little  scream.  The  Jarl's  sister  rose 
swiftly,  standing  erect  as  a  red  lily. 

"This  thing  comes  ill  to  pass  that  you  forget  me 
as  well  as  yourselves,"  she  said. 

After  a  moment,  Olaf  lowered  his  glittering 
eyes  and  finished  his  withdrawal ;  when  Bryn- 
hild  sank  again  to  her  place  among  the  mossy 
roots,  and  settled  herself  as  one  preparing  for  a 
treat. 

"Sing,  I  pray  you,"  she  said  to  the  Songsmith. 

For  him,  Olaf  ceased  to  exist.  Unslinging  his 
rude  harp,  he  leaned  easily  against  a  tree  before 
her  and  sang  her  a  Skraelling  love-song,  a  song 
made  of  murmuring  brook-sounds,  of  the  calls  of 
mating  birds,  of  the  wild  note  of  the  blast  in  the 
tree-tops,  a  song  that  tuned  well  with  the  hush 
and  the  haze  of  the  autumn  forest.  In  a  silken 
1  tangle  of  interlocked  arms,  the  women  made  a 
rapt  circle  around  him;  and  the  Jarl's  sister  was 
drawn  forward  on  her  moss-cushion.  She  freed  a 

114 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

long  breath  when  the  last  note  had  died  away  among 
the  leafless  branches  above  them. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  the 
work  which  interpreters  do  between  men  of  differ 
ent  tongues  is  the  work  that  song-makers  do  be 
tween  people  of  different  ranks.  When  I  hear  you 
sing,  creatures  who  have  seemed  to  me  no  more 
than  beasts  become  human  like  myself.  If  there 
were  enough  singers  to  interpret  people  to  one 
another,  perhaps  there  would  be  no  strife  in  the 
world." 

Pleasure  so  deepened  the  color  in  the  Song- 
smith's  face  that  he  was  glad  to  shake  his  long  hair 
over  it  by  bowing  low ;  he  was  saved  the  necessity 
of  answering  for  after  a  little  Brynhild  spoke  again, 
sinking  back  in  her  seat  to  regard  him  thoughtfully. 

"The  first  time  that  ever  it  happened  to  me  to 
hear  your  voice  was  also  in  the  forest,  as  you  sang 
the  Song  of  Fridtjof  the  way  you  would  have  liked 
it  to  happen.  Ever  since  then  I  have  wondered 
what  kind  of  ending  you  gave  to  it.  It  seems  to 
me  that  this  would  be  a  good  time  to  sing  it,  if 
you  are  willing  that  we  should  get  further  good 
from  your  gift  of  song." 

"The  best  time!"  cried  Yrsa,  clapping  her  hands; 
while  urgent  murmurs  came  from  all  the  rest,  from 
Sigrid,  the  haughtiest  of  the  matrons,  down  to  the 
shyest  of  the  maids. 

"5 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Once  Randvar  would  have  struck  up  without 
further  consideration;  now  he  fingered  the  harp- 
strings  hesitatingly  before  he  answered. 

"Jarl's  sister,  we  have  not  quarrelled  for  two 
weeks,  and  I  confess  that  the  friendliness  has  been 
worth  much  to  me.  I  beg  you  not  to  urge  me  to 
do  that  which  will  set  us  against  each  other  again." 

Her  eyebrows  went  down  with  displeasure,  then 
up  in  wonder. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 

"The  ending  I  have  made  would  offend  your 
pride,  noble  one ;  and  then  your  scorn  would  tread 
on  the  heel  of  my  temper.  When  plenty  of  paths 
open  before  us,  why  choose  one  that  we  know  leads 
to  bad  walking?" 

Why,  indeed  ?  Unless  because  she  was  a  wom 
an  ?  Her  gray  Valkyria  eyes  lighted  as  at  a  chal 
lenge,  for  all  that  she  remained  leaning  against 
her  tree. 

"You  make  a  mistake,  Songsmith,"  she  told  him, 
"to  think  that  I  would  be  offended  with  you  for 
doing  a  thing  which  I  asked  you  to  do.  Give  me 
a  chance,  I  pray,  to  show  that  I  am  not  so  with 
out  sense." 

Randvar  drew  his  harp  up  higher  upon  his 
breast,  then  lowered  it  until  it  rested  upon  the 
ground. 

"My  singing-mood  has  passed,"  he  said  shortly, 
116 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"  but  I  will  tell  you  the  ending,  since  you  will  have 
your  way.  My  story  branches  from  your  skald's 
song  where  Fridtjof  comes  to  ask  Ingeborg  of  her 
brother  Helge.  Your  song  has  it  that  when  Helge 
refuses  to  make  the  match,  because  Fridtjof  has 
no  more  than  a  freeman's  rank  while  Ingeborg  is 
king-born,  she  takes  it  quietly  and  marries  the  old 
King  Ring  and  sees  no  more  of  the  man  she  loves, 
until  Ring  gets  so  old  as  to  be  tired  of  living  and 
gives  her  to  the  young  man,  with  his  crown  and 
the  other  things  he  is  through  with.  Bah!"  The 
Songsmith  warmed  in  spite  of  himself,  flung  back 
his  sun-burnished  mane  with  the  fierce  grace  of  a 
stallion.  "A  man  of  spirit,  your  Fridtjof!  Mine 
would  have  laughed  in  her  face.  My  Fridtjof  takes 
her  in  the  teeth  of  Helge's  refusal;  and  she  comes 
to  him  willingly,  as  befits  a  woman  of  brave  kin; 
and  he  wrests  Ring's  kingdom  from  him  in  battle. 
That  is  the  way  I  end  it." 

"That  is  the  best  way!"  cried  two  little  pages 
who  had  come  up  with  cups  of  hot  spiced  wine, 
and  their  shrill  enthusiasm  changed  the  women's 
breathless  listening  into  laughter. 

The  Jarl's  sister  laughed  too,  turning  aside  to 
beckon  her  favorite,  Eric,  to  bring  her  own  par 
ticular  cup. 

"Have  thanks  for  the  telling,  Songsmith,"  she 
said,  and  swung  the  horn  lightly  aloft  in  the  grace- 

117 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

ful  gesture  of  drinking  to  him.  "Would  it  be  to 
your  mind  now  to  tell  us  some  tale  of  forest  ad 
venture?" 

No  word  of  comment!  It  was  in  accordance 
with  her  promise  not  to  be  offended,  but  Randvar 
discovered  of  a  sudden  that  he  would  rather  she 
had  quarrelled  with  him.  He  did  not  answer  her 
question,  but  busied  himself  drinking  the  wine 
that  was  offered  him.  When  he  had  given  the  cup 
back,  he  said  abruptly : 

"It  is  to  my  mind  to  see  first  how  this  matter 
stands.  Maybe  you  believe  that  because  she  was 
king-born,  Ingeborg  would  marry  Ring  even  though 
she  had  love  towards  Fridtjof  ?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  she  would  have  had  love 
towards  Fridtjof,"  Brynhild  answered  calmly. 

He  felt  himself  growing  angry  as  he  asked  her 
why  not. 

Her  shapely  shoulders  rose.  "For  one  thing, 
his  manners  would  not  be  at  all  after  her  taste. 
He  would  think  it  big  and  manful  to  be  careless 
about  his  clothes  and  his  hair  and  such  matters, 
and  she  would  think  it  disgusting." 

A  moment  Rolf's  son  was  dumb,  marvelling  that 
a  word-arrow  could  sting  so;  then,  as  blood  to  a 
wound,  his  temper  surged  into  his  face,  till  Eric 
thought  it  an  imposing  thing  to  step  in  front  of  his 
mistress.  Immediately  after,  he  was  picking  him- 

118 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

self  out  of  a  briar-patch,  a  dozen  steps  away;  and 
Randvar  faced  the  Jarl's  sister,  his  voice  deep 
with  ire. 

"  Have  you  the  intention  to  tell  me,"  he  demand 
ed,  "  that  it  is  a  woman's  turn  of  mind  to  care  only 
about  the  cut  of  a  man's  garments  or  the  length 
of  his  hair?  That  a  great  love  could  not  lay  hold 
of  her  as  a  hurricane  lays  hold  of  an  oak  and  shake 
down  all  little  matters  like  acorns?"  He  folded 
his  arms  tightly  across  his  breast  as  he  waited  for 
her  answer,  conscious  that  if  she  should  shrug  her 
shoulders  at  him  again  he  would  be  tempted  to 
shake  her. 

But  she  yawned  instead. 

"I  dare  say  it  might  befall  a  bondmaid  to  get 
carried  out  of  herself,"  she  assented.  "Rulers' 
daughters  learn  to  rule  themselves,  and  noble 
women  take  everything  coldly." 

He  unfolded  his  arms,  then,  and  began  to  laugh. 
"Coldly!  It  were  good  had  I  a  shield  to  show 
you  yourself  in  as  you  say  that,  Starkad's  daugh 
ter  !  Through  every  fibre  of  your  beauty,  from  the 
light  in  your  eyes  to  the  ruddy  gold  of  your  hair, 
runs  the  color  of  flame.  The  red  of  your  lips  is 
the  fiery  blood  of  the  North  that  no  ice  can  cool; 
and  every  motion  of  your  slim  hand  kindles  fire 
in  the  breasts  of  the  men  who  look  on  you.  Jarl's 
sister,  when  that  fire  shall  break  out  against  your 

119 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

rule,  it  will  blaze  as  much  higher  than  a  bond 
maid's  passion  as  your  spirit  is  stronger  than  hers. 
Coldly!"  He  laughed  again,  as  he  stepped  back 
to  swing  his  harp  over  his  shoulder. 

It  seemed  that  his  laughter  pressed  her  pride 
hard;  she  rose  suddenly,  her  hand  crushing  a 
mottled  eagle-feather  she  had  picked  up;  but  she 
did  not  quite  lose  the  composure  she  had  pledged. 
After  a  moment  she  tossed  the  feather  aside, 
smiling  haughtily. 

"  Behold  how  you  are  so  bent  on  a  quarrel  that 
you  try  to  make  one  all  by  yourself,"  she  said. 
"Let  us  talk  about  something  else.  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  whether  it  is  because  the  Skraellings 
cannot  say  the  word  'Norway'  that  they  call  the 
Town  by  that  queer  name  of  '  Norumbega '-  But, 
listen!  Is  it  as  it  seems,  that  I  hear  my  kinsman 
calling  you?" 

Randvar  hoped  that  she  did,  realizing  that  his 
humor  made  a  change  of  scene  advisable.  He 
welcomed  the  sound  of  his  name  shouted  peremp 
torily  from  the  group  around  the  bowlders.  A 
muttered  word  and  a  hasty  bow,  and  he  was  in 
retreat,  trampling  savagely  every  creeping  green 
thing  he  encountered. 

The  temper  of  the  group  into  which  he  came 
matched  well  his  own.  The  three  old  counsellors 
were  growling  like  three  dogs  over  a  bone ;  and  like 

120 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

a  bone  picked  almost  bare  of  endurance,  the  Jarl 
held  his  rigid  place  among  them.  He  turned 
sharply  as  the  song-maker  approached,  and  Rand- 
var  was  startled  to  see  how  in  that  short  time  the 
fleeting  expression  had  become  fixed  upon  him. 
Fierceness  unmistakable  it  showed  now.  In  the 
struggle  to  hold  it  under,  he  had  bitten  his  lips 
bloody. 

"Songsmith,"  he  said,  "you  know  best  why 
you  gave  me  the  counsel  to  fare  across  the  river 
with  but  few  men,  and  trust  myself  unarmed  in 
the  Skraelling  camp.  If  any  power  lies  at  your 
tongue  -  roots,  make  the  reason  clear  to  these 
Mimir-heads.  I  have  tried  until  my  tongue  foams 
like  a  goaded  horse,  but  it  seems  that  I  do  not 
speak  their  language." 

Sigvat  Smooth-Speech  made  him  a  gesture  that 
was  half  deprecating,  half  paternal.  "There  is 
nothing  new  in  that,  lord,  that  to  the  ears  of  age 
the  fancies  of  youth  sound  like  a  forgotten  language. 
To  talk  of  trusting  a  wild  man  that  he  may  trust 
you — Jarl,  the  Fenrir-wolf  will  be  let  loose  before 
good  will  come  of  that!" 

"To  talk  of  trusting  wild  beasts  because  they 
have  the  shape  of  men!"  snorted  the  adviser  who 
stood  beside  Sigvat. 

And  Mord  the  Grim  frowned  at  the  son  of  Rolf, 
as  he  stroked  the  grizzled  beard  that  clung  to  his 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

chin  like  foliage  to  an  oak's  lower  branches  after 
its  poll  is  bare. 

"Jarl,  it  will  never  answer  our  end  that  you 
should  give  yourself  into  the  guidance  of  a  raw 
woodsman.  That  the  youth  is  skilled  in  wood 
craft,  no  one  gainsays, — let  him  rule  your  hunting, 
then.  Since  he  has  the  singing-gift,  hand  over 
your  entertainments  to  him.  But  when  it  comes 
to  a  matter  in  which  one  may  so  act  that  men's 
lives  hang  on  it — lord,  leave *that  to  us!" 

"  Leave  that  to  us!"  the  others  echoed. 

Helvin  made  no  reply.  He  had  flung  himself 
back  upon  the  wolfskins  and  was  gazing  far  away 
into  the  haze,  his  blood-streaked  lip  held  between 
his  white  teeth.  It  was  left  for  Randvar  to  answer. 

Long  enough  to  conquer  the  itch  to  bandy  words 
with  them,  the  forester  stood  pushing  about  a  stalk 
of  orange-splotched  fungus  with  his  moccasined 
foot.  Then  he  spoke  curtly : 

"To  this  I  will  reply  that  because  you  are  raw 
in  knowledge  of  the  Skraellings,  you  could  not  fol 
low  the  track  of  my  reasoning.  But  like  enough 
you  will  believe  that  I  am  not  guessing  if  I  prove 
how  sure  of  it  I  am.  On  what  I  have  said,  I  will 
lay  down  my  life.  Say,  then,  that  the  Jarl  shall 
leave  me  bound  in  your  hands  to  suffer  death  for 
any  harm  that  befalls  him." 

The  stillness  seemed  to  deepen  around  them  as 

122 


Randvar   the   Songsmith 

the  three  old  chiefs  drew  nearer  to  him.  It  was 
Mord  who  broke  the  silence. 

"That  you  would  bear  yourself  boldly  was  to  be 
looked  for,  but  it  will  not  stand  to  your  good  if 
your  dream-spinning  has  made  you  over-trustful. 
Though  there  be  no  guile  behind  it,  and  your  mis 
take  be  the  most  excusable  that  man  was  ever 
tricked  into,  you  should  not  come  off  with  your 
life." 

"I  shall  make  no  mistake,"  Randvar  answered. 

Again  the  stillness  settled,  as  the  Grim  One's 
eyes  probed  from  their  beetling  ambush.  But  he 
moved  at  last  with  a  curt  gesture. 

"So  be  it,"  he  assented,  and  laid  a  light  hand 
on  the  young  Jarl's  knee.  "  Lord,  all  is  in  readi 
ness." 

As  though  the  touch  were  fire,  Helvin  started 
up.  "Too  long  have  we  waited  as  it  is!  Song- 
smith,  I  forgot  to  listen  to  your  pleading,  but  it 
must  have  been  all-powerful.  Thorbiorn,  be  good 
enough  to  call  those  whom  I  have  chosen  to  ac 
company  me,  —  I  have  warned  you  openly  that 
no  old  men  shall  have  part  there.  Such  suspicion 
as  cries  from  your  wrinkles  would  breed  murder 
in  a  lamb's  heart!  Call  Bolverk  and  five  guards 
men,  and  Gunnar  and—  He  broke  off  at  the 
spectacle  of  Randvar  delivering  his  sword  into  the 
keeping  of  Mord.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?" 
9  123 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

When  Mord  had  told  him  in  a  few  words,  he 
burst  out  angrily. 

"  That  shall  not  be !  He  is  my  friend.  The  risk 
is  mine.  How  is  any  peace- talk  to  be  made  with 
out  him?  Who  else  can  speak  enough  of  the 
Skraelling  tongue?" 

"It  is  no  less  your  people's  risk,"  the  old  coun 
sellor  made  him  stern  reminder;  and  Randvar 
reassured  him  briefly: 

"Lord,  when  I  learned  the  Skraelling  tongue  of 
the  sachem's  son,  as  I  told  you,  he  learned  Norse 
of  me  in  return." 

It  would  seem  that  all  objections  had  been  met, 
but  Helvin  did  not  yield  with  his  usual  reasonable 
ness.  Instead,  he  stood  scowling  at  the  tree  be 
side  him,  his  hands  picking  and  tearing  at  a  gray 
lichen  plastered  on  the  bark.  Finally,  while  they 
waited  perplexed  around  him,  he  turned  his  head 
and  looked  at  the  Songsmith. 

Meeting  the  look,  Randvar  stiffened  and  spoke 
amazedly:  "Lord,  what  have  I  done?" 

In  words,  Helvin  made  him  no  answer;  but  for 
the  space  of  a  heart -beat  murder  glared  from  his 
murky  eyes.  Then,  flinging  a  sign  towards  the 
waiting  escort,  he  strode  down  to  the  point  where 
the  horses  waited  at  the  fording-place,  hailed  eager 
ly  by  the  idling  groups. 

Mord's  tap  on  the  song-maker's  shoulder  remind- 
124 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ed  him  of  his  share  in  the  bargain.  Going  aside  with 
the  three  old  men  to  the  prison-chamber  they  had 
selected,  he  submitted  his  body  to  be  bound  to  a 
tree  with  ropes  of  walrus-hide. 

A  wall  of  evergreens  hid  the  water  from  his 
view,  but  he  could  follow  the  progress  of  the  peace 
party  only  by  interpreting  the  outbursts  of  the 
throng.  A  farewell  of  cheers  marked  the  Jarl's 
departure  from  this  bank;  a  babel  of  comment 
showed  when  his  dark-skinned  hosts  had  received 
him  on  the  other.  Then  a  waning  of  interest  be 
tokened  that  he  had  passed  beyond  the  spectators' 
range  of  vision  as  the  Skraelling  ranks  closed  about 
him  to  conduct  him  to  the  council-fire. 

With  the  suspension  of  the  amusement,  the 
crowd  on  the  shore  broke  up  and  came  strolling 
back;  sound  dwindled  to  the  buzz  of  the  gossips, 
the  occasional  shouts  of  the  dice- throwers.  Out 
of  the  lull  there  came  again  to  the  Songsmith  the 
feeling  that  he  was  wakening  from  a  dream,  and 
this  time  the  sensation  remained  with  him. 

Slowly,  amid  the  chaos  of  his  mind,  thought 
took  shape  like  this:  "When  a  man  is  asleep,  a 
hundred  strange  tokens  are  of  no  account ;  but  too 
many  of  them  in  waking  life  should  be  taken  heed 
of.  I  cannot  see  wherein  I  have  done  aught  to 
deserve  anger.  .  .  .  Once  before  has  he  been  wroth 
without  enough  cause, — the  night  he  came  to  the 

I25 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

Tower.  .  .  .  Surely  I  must  have  been  dreaming  these 
five  weeks  to  have  so  seldom  thought  of  the  strange 
things  which  took  place  that  night! .  .  .  Now  I  begin 
to  understand  why  he  harped  upon  his  temper 
when  he  offered  me  to  join  his  following.  Of 
fered?  Commanded!  Here  is  a  riddle  that  is 
not  solved  yet!  Why  should  he  force  the  skald- 
ship  on  me  as  though  it  were  the  penalty  for  some 
crime  against  him,  instead  of  an  honor  for  which 
every  mouth  is  watering?  Unless,  indeed,  he  feels 
that  his  fretfulness  makes  it  more  a  peril  than 
a  pleasure.  .  .  .  Certainly  to  follow  a  chief  who  for 
no  cause  whatever  shifts  from  a  friendly  mood  to 
a  murderous  one  —  Now  that  is  not  possible !  I 
have  ever  found  him  the  highest-minded  man. 
Some  hidden  reason  must  lie  under  this.  It  must 
be  that  I  have  stumbled  into  some  misdeed  with 
out  knowing  it.  But  what?  .  .  .  What?" 

Slowly  his  thoughts  lost  shape,  resolved  into 
chaos  again.  He  stood  staring  down  abstractedly 
at  the  billowing  leaves. 


VIII 

"Courage  is  better  than  sword-strength" 

— Northern  saying. 

7NCE,  as  time  dragged  by,  the  song- 
maker  had  a  vague  impression  that 
Olaf  was  looking  at  him  over  a  bush ; 
but  he  Was  too  absorbed  to  care 
I  whether  it  was  so  or  not.  He  did 
not  come  out  of  his  meditations  until  the  dark 
hemlock  tapestry  before  him  was  put  aside  by  a 
white  hand  and  between  the  gloomy  branches 
there  appeared  the  bright  figure  of  the  Jarl's  sister, 
the  trailing  riches  of  her  gown  up-gathered  on  her 
arm  as  she  strolled  forth  to  explore  the  recesses 
of  the  new  guest-house. 

At  sight  of  him  bound  to  a  pine  and  staked  in 
by  three  stark  old  chiefs  looking  like  three  shell- 
barked  hickories  in  their  sombre  robes,  she  came 
to  a  stand-still,  stood  with  shining  head  aloft  as 
one  who  has  caught  the  note  of  a  distant  battle- 
horn.  At  sight  of  her,  the  blood  rose  in  a  hot  wave 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  he  muttered  a  prayer 
to  the  nearest  of  his  keepers. 

127 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

"  Be  kind  enough  to  tell  her  that  I  have  no  man's 
blame  for  anything, — that  I  put  on  these  bonds  of 
my  own  free  will." 

It  chanced  that  the  man  appealed  to  was  Mord 
the  Grim ;  the  old  counsellor  justified  the  nickname 
by  the  look  he  bent  on  Rolf's  son. 

"Are  you  forward  in  this  direction,  also?"  he 
inquired.  "  Starkad's  daughter  will  not  think  that 
news  so  much  worth  having." 

Brynhild  drew  a  step  nearer  and  answered  for 
herself:  "  I  should  think  it  a  sad  story  if  I  did  not 
want  news  about  a  brave  man's  fate.  To  come 
from  a  circle  of  merrymakers  into  a  group  of  such 
menace —  Though  it  were  no  more  than  a  thrall 
that  was  bound  here,  I  should  wish  to  know  what 
this  betided  him!  I  beg  you  to  tell  me  as  quick 
as  you  can." 

Like  a  nurse  who  would  scare  away  an  inquisi 
tive  child,  Mord  made  his  voice  ominous.  "You 
guess  well  that  we  are  not  in  play,  young  maiden. 
The  fellow  has  given  himself  as  a  hostage  for  the 
Skraellings'  good  faith.  If  he  has  made  any  false 
step  in  truthfulness  or  judgment—  A  motion 
towards  the  sword  at  his  side  completed  the  mean 
ing.  "  I  warn  you  that  you  will  get  sorry  sport 
here.  Be  pleased  to  return  to  your  playmates." 

With  peremptoriness  thinly  disguised  as  courtesy, 
he  stepped  forward  and  swung  back  the  branches 

128 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

that  she  might  pass  out  of  the  prison-chamber. 
From  the  other  side  of  the  hemlock  wall  came  like 
an  invitation  the  rippling  laughter  of  the  gossips, 
the  shouts  of  the  dice-throwers.  For  an  instant  it 
was  as  though  she  stood  on  the  threshold  between 
two  worlds. 

It  did  not  take  her  more  than  an  instant  to 
choose  between  them.  Even  disdainfully,  she  put 
aside  Mord  and  the  merrymakers. 

"  Do  you  think  me  fit  only  to  watch  throws  for 
light  stakes?  I  prefer  to  watch  your  game  with 
the  Fates,"  she  said,  and  joined  the  sinister  group 
under  the  pine. 

In  his  bound  wrists,  Randvar's  pulses  leaped; 
but  the  three  advice-givers  raised  a  chorus  of  pro 
test,  of  entreaty,  of  command.  What  would  have 
resulted  is  doubtful  if  there  had  not  come  sudden 
ly  from  the  river -bank  sounds  that  struck  them 
dumb,  —  an  outburst  of  voices  rising  high  above 
the  hum  of  the  slope,  a  clangor  of  weapons,  a 
piercing  cry: 

"The  Jarl  is  attacked!" 

In  the  wink-long  hush  that  followed  the  out 
break  there  was  discernible  a  distant  noise  of 
savage  whoops  and  yells. 

Forgetting  his  helplessness,  the  Songsmith  tried 
to  leap  forward,  so  that  the  thongs  that  held  him 
strained  and  creaked;  and  at  the  same  instant  the 

129 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

three  old  chiefs  turned  upon  him  such  faces  that 
Brynhild  stepped  in  front  of  him  as  though  their 
knotted  hands  on  their  hilts  had  already  drawn 
their  weapons. 

"Make  sure  of  it,  first!"  she  demanded.  "It 
may  be  no  more  than  one  of  their  hideous  dances 
of  entertainment.  It  is  said  that  they  sound  as 
bad  as  battles." 

Disputing,  their  voices  rose  shrilly ;  but  Randvar 
relaxed  in  his  bonds,  and  bent  his  head  to  wipe  off 
on  his  shoulder  the  cold  drops  that  had  sprung  to 
his  upper  lip. 

"You  have  a  cool  wit,  Jarl's  sister!"  he  breathed. 
"That  is  the  only  thing  it  can  be."  He  spoke 
curtly  to  his  keepers:  "Why  do  you  spend  your 
force  on  me?  There  will  be  time  enough  for  that 
hereafter.  I  advise  you  to  see  to  it  that  your  own 
people  do  not  imperil  Helvin  by  breaking  the  peace 
without  cause." 

It  seemed  that  that  danger  had  already  occurred 
to  the  old  chieftains,  as  well  it  might  with  such 
uproar  of  voice  and  weapon  coming  from  the  river- 
bank.  Before  Randvar  ceased  speaking,  Thorbiorn 
and  Sigvat  had  plunged  through  the  hemlocks  into 
the  seething  caldron  below.  Now,  cursing  and  bran 
dishing  his  weapon,  Mord  flung  himself  after  them, 
his  voice  distinguishable  above  the  tumult  until  the 
din  gradually  sank  and  he  occupied  the  air  alone. 

130 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Far  removed  from  the  turmoil  of  the  bank  seem 
ed  the  stillness  of  the  hemlock  nook  where  Rolf's 
son  stood  worshipping  Starkad's  daughter.  Much 
as  he  had  claimed  to  know  of  the  spirit  under  her 
pride,  he  gathered  wonder  with  gazing  at  her  now. 
As  Northern  skies  by  Northern  Lights,  so  were 
her  gray  eyes  fired;  and  measured  constraint  had 
melted  like  ice  from  her  motions.  Swallow-swift, 
she  had  slipped  through  the  branches  and  come 
back  again,  bearing  in  her  white  fingers  a  glowing 
brand  from  one  of  the  deserted  camp-fires. 

He  looked  at  her  somewhat  blankly,  then,  ask 
ing  in  wonder:  "Are  you  going  to  light  my  funeral 
pyre?" 

"  I  am  going  to  set  you  free,"  she  answered,  "  so 
that  you  may  have  more  chances  for  life  than 
Mord's  mercy  will  grant  you  if  it  should  prove  that 
the  Skraellings  are  not  dancing." 

Her  silken  robes  sweeping  the  leaves,  she  knelt 
down  before  him.  Almost  she  had  the  fire  laid  to 
the  ankle-thongs  before  he  could  speak. 

"No,  no!  What  is  coming  to  me,  I  must  abide 
here,  as  I  have  sworn." 

In  her  upturned  face,  Valkyria's  honor  fought 
with  woman's  pity.  Yet  though  she  took  the 
brand  away,  she  did  not  rise;  the  woman  in  her 
pleaded  as  before  a  lawman. 

"  Death  is  too  hard  an  atonement  for  a  mistake. 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

Forfeit  your  post,  your  hopes  of  fame,  but  not 
your  life.  I  admit  that  you  must  pay  some  fine, — 
but  not  your  life!"  Again  she  stretched  forth  the 
burning  wood,  desperately,  this  time,  as  one  who 
dreads  interference. 

Strong  as  a  hand,  his  voice  overtook  her.  "  No. 
I  should  get  the  greatest  shame." 

The  purpose  failed  in  her  face  before  her  arm 
yielded;  but  at  last  she  rose  and  cast  the  brand 
from  her,  and  stood  with  hands  pressed  hard  upon 
her  breast. 

He  had  seen  in  his  visions  that  she  would  be 
true  to  a  friend,  but  he  saw  now  for  the  first  time 
that  she  could  suffer  for  one.  His  love  fed  on  her 
distress,  even  while  he  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

"  Let  it  not  worry  you  a  jot,  sunbright  maiden. 
No  likelihood  at  all  is  there  that  I  shall  come  to 
harm.  As  I  know  the  temper  of  my  sword,  I  know 
the  trustworthiness  of  the  men  I  am  leaning  on." 

She  took  her  hands  from  her  bosom  to  wring 
them.  "How  can  you  be  certain  of  that?  Your 
mind  is  shapen  altogether  like  a  dream-spinner's, 
that  believes  good  of  every  one — of  savages  whom 
others  hold  no  better  than  beasts  —  of  Helvin, 
whom  every  one  else  thinks—  Ah!"  A  sudden 
thought  seemed  to  arrest  her.  "  Now  is  that  like 
ly  ?  That  Helvin  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  let  them 
dance  when  he  knows  what  lies  upon  it  for  you? 

132 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

As  easily  believe  that  he  wishes  your  death!  I 
must  find  out  what  is  happening  now."  Heedless 
of  her  trailing  skirts,  she  was  gone  over  stubble  and 
stone,  her  step  more  light  and  free  than  the  tread 
of  Odin's  shield-maidens  in  the  high  halls  of  his 
chosen,  as  she  climbed  farther  up  the  hill  to  a 
ledge  of  rock  which  had  pushed  through  the  soil 
and  risen  in  a  watch-tower. 

When  he  could  no  longer  catch  any  gleam  of 
her  glowing  robes,  the  song-maker  stood  with  his 
head  leaning  back  against  the  tree  as  if  his  hope 
would  mount  to  the  sky.  He  wandered  among 
singing  stars  until  his  attention  was  gradually 
drawn  earthward  by  a  stealthy  crackling  of  the 
brush  on  his  left. 

Between  the  interlacing  twigs,  he  made  out  pres 
ently  a  patch  of  such  blue  fabric  as  Thorgrim's 
son's  cloak  was  fashioned  of;  but  it  did  not 
seem  reasonable  to  him  that  the  French  One 
should  have  strayed  so  far  from  the  scene  of  ex 
citement.  He  could  not  understand  it  until  Olaf 
glided  into  the  open  and  moved  towards  him,  an 
unsheathed  knife  glittering  against  his  blue  sleeve. 

No  impulse  to  call  for  help  came  to  Randvar — 
that  instinct  his  life  of  solitude  had  blunted — but 
he  put  forth  all  his  strength  against  his  bonds, 
swelling  out  his  chest,  hardening  the  sinews  of  his 
limbs,  until  the  thongs  that  withstood  him  were 

i33 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

as  iron  sawing  the  flesh.  When  he  found  that 
they  would  not  yield,  he  became  as  motionless  as 
the  tree  behind  him;  his  mouth  twisted  sardon 
ically  as  he  wondered  in  what  way  Erna's  proving 
of  his  heart  against  steel  was  going  to  serve  him 
now. 

As  their  eyes  held  each  other  it  is  unlikely  that 
either  man  realized  that  any  but  his  foe  was  in 
the  world.  Upon  their  tense  nerves  it  vibrated 
like  a  blow  when  the  voice  of  the  Jarl's  sister 
rang  out  behind  them : 

"Stand!" 

The  surprise  of  it  seemed  to  paralyze  Olaf  so 
that  for  an  instant  he  did  stand,  remaining  poised 
in  the  air.  Then  the  curve  of  his  parted  lips  lost 
all  resemblance  to  a  smile. 

"  Bright  Brynhild,  this  hand  shall  show  you  Hel- 
vin  avenged!"  he  said,  and  cleared  the  remaining 
space  at  a  stride,  his  arm  uplifted. 

In  the  draught  of  a  breath  she  was  before  him, 
her  slim  hands  locked  about  his  wrist  in  the  effort 
to  pull  it  down. 

"  I  bid  you  stop !  Helvin  is  safe !  Do  you  hear 
me?" 

Perhaps  his  mind  really  did  not  hear  her.  With 
each  word,  his  eyes  froze  faster  to  the  Songsmith. 
Without  so  much  as  glancing  at  her,  he  put  up  his 
sinewy  left  hand  and  pried  loose  her  grasp.  The 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

bound  man  cried  out  to  her  to  give  way  and  leave 
them, — so  little  even  he  knew  her  Valkyria  spirit. 

Thunder  -  strong  it  gathered  in  her,  lightning- 
swift  it  struck.  Swooping  on  the  sword  which 
Olaf 's  move  left  exposed  at  his  side,  she  tore  it  free. 
With  its  upward  sweep,  she  struck  the  knife  from 
his  hold.  With  its  downward  stroke  she  levelled  at 
his  breast.  He  leaped  back  just  in  time  to  save 
his  life,  if  the  rigidness  of  her  arm  told  the  truth. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  as  poor-spirited  as  you  are 
dastardly?"  she  said. 

At  a  bound  his  mind  was  brought  back  to  her, 
then;  and  once  back,  it  would  have  been  a  dull 
mind  not  to  see  that  his  suit  was  in  even  greater 
danger  than  his  body.  In  a  trice  he  had  doffed 
passion,  donned  reproach. 

"  Brynhild!  Is  it  really  as  it  seems,  that  because 
my  loyalty  runs  away  with  my  manners,  you  speak 
so  to  me?" 

"  I  know  not  why  you  will  talk  of  manners,"  she 
retorted,  "when  what  your  passion  ran  away  with 
was  your  honor,  that  ought  to  have  taught  even 
a  thrall  better  than  to  fall  upon  a  fettered  man." 

"A  thrall?"  He  spread  out  his  hands  in  indig 
nant  protest.  "  Little  shall  a  thrall  know  of  a 
high-born  man's  wrath  over  the  slaying  of  his 
chief!  Am  I  not,  before  all  else,  a  free  Norseman? 
Only  this  morning,  maiden,  did  you  upbraid  me 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

because  my  French  rearing  had  underlaid  my  Norse 
temper!  Now,  behold,  when  my  Northern  blood 
breaks  out  in  its  native  wildness  you  stab  me  with 
eyes,  words ! — oh,  use  the  sword !  The  steel  would 
be  more  kind." 

Gracefully  he  sank  on  his  knee  before  her,  making 
as  though  he  would  bare  his  breast  for  the  stroke. 
Perhaps  a  maid  of  France  would  have  shrunk  or 
swooned.  Perhaps  it  took  him  by  surprise  that 
she  stood  with  unshaken  hand,  studying  him  as 
one  studies  an  unfamiliar  object. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  the  wish  to  be  kind 
to  you,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  do  not  know  how  I 
feel  towards  you,  for  you  are  not  the  man  I  thought 
I  knew.  Perhaps  you  should  not  have  blame,  since 
you  believed  Helvin  slain,  yet— 

Her  voice  quickened  as  a  chorus  sounding 
through  the  trees  heralded  the  old  counsellors' 
return.  She  shifted  the  sword  with  an  imperious 
gesture. 

"Rise  up!  It  will  happen  to  you  to  be  seen  in 
that  foolish  position!  I  cannot  tell  whether  I  shall 
ever  have  liking  towards  you  again  or  not.  Rise 
up,  and  go  away  from  me  until  I  find  out." 

He  had  risen  while  she  was  speaking,  but  whether 
he  would  obey  her  last  command  was  for  an  instant 
uncertain.  Turning  from  her,  his  eyes  rested  again 
on  the  Songsmith;  his  empty  hands  began  to  open 

136 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

and  shut  at  his  sides.  Only  the  grim  voice  of  Mord, 
falling  on  the  pause,  seemed  to  catch  and  hold  him. 
Even  as  he  gave  way  step  by  step,  his  vulture 
eyes  clung  to  the  song-maker  until  the  bushes  rose 
like  walls  between  them. 

While  the  branches  that  closed  behind  Olaf  were 
still  aquiver,  the  hemlock  boughs  opened  upon 
Mord  and  his  associates.  Filing  in  stiffly,  they  sat 
them  down  heavily  upon  bowlder  and  hummock. 

"A  man  of  my  years,"  Mord  panted,  "does  not 
take  it  lightly  to  have  his  heart  turned  over  in 
him  because  some  red  apes  choose  to  hop  around 
in  mock  warfare.  Get  what  enjoyment  you  can 
out  of  it,  Rolf's  son,  that  so  far  your  savages  have 
not  belied  you.  When  their  foolishness  was  over, 
the  Jarl  let  so  much  news  out  as  to  send  a  messenger 
over  to  tell  us  that  he  was  safe  and  getting  all  the 
favors  he  asked  for, — after  we  had  spent  that  much 
time  in  doubt  and  endangered  as  many  lives  as  there 
are  bodies  among  us!  May  Hel  take  fools  and 
leave  knaves,  if  she  have  not  room  for  both !  Jarl's 
sister,  even  you  seem  to  have  lost  your  wits,  to 
go  about  flourishing  a  sword,  with  cheeks  as  red 
to  look  at  as  your  kirtle.  I  thought  you  made  it 
your  boast  to  take  things  coldly." 

Coldly!''  For  the  first  time  Randvar  recalled 
their  dispute  of  the  morning,  looked  at  the  fire- 
breathing  Valkyria,  and  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

At  the  same  breath,  she  darted  him  a  glance  that 
was  half  startled  and  half  menacing.  The  flaming 
of  her  color  was  not  more  marked  than  the  stiffen 
ing  of  her  spine  as  she  caught  his  expression. 

He  sobered  in  haste.  "Jarl's  sister,  no  faintest 
intention  had  I  of  making  mockery!" 

She  deigned  him  no  answer  whatever.  With  aw 
ful  precision  she  planted  the  sword  in  the  earth 
beside  her,  with  awful  deliberation  gathered  up 
her  silken  skirts,  without  a  backward  glance  swept 
from  the  prison-chamber.  Twice  he  called  after 
her  without  avail, — so  disastrous  may  a  victory  be! 

Like  a  fog,  sullen  rage  settled  upon  him  then. 
When  the  old  chiefs  asked  him  what  Starkad's 
daughter  was  doing  with  the  sword,  he  clipped 
his  answer  as  close  as  might  be : 

"  Olaf ,  Thorgrim's  son,  lent  it  to  her  to  cut  his 
luck- thread  with." 

When  they  questioned  him  about  her  displeas 
ure,  he  conceded  no  more  than  an  ungracious  move 
ment  of  his  shoulders.  Old  Mord  was  impelled  at 
last  to  scowl  at  him  over  the  cloak-end  with  which 
he  was  mopping  his  face. 

"Olaf  the  French,"  he  observed,  "was  fostered 
in  a  land  where  they  have  the  good  custom  of 
teaching  manners  as  well  as  courage.  Sure  am  I 
that  such  a  training  would  have  bettered  you, 
Rolf's  son,  more  than  you  think.  I  have,  however, 

138 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

a  good  hope  that  even  as  autumn  thunder  ripens 
the  grain,  this  tempest  may  have  ripened  your 
green  judgment;  so  that  hereafter  you  will  be 
less  quick  to  sneer  at  the  caution  of  old  men,  and 
more  slow  to  stake  your  all  on  any  belief.  Though 
the  Skraellings  keep  faith  with  you,  remember 
this — that  you  came  near  losing  your  life  through 
your  lord's  folly,  who  accepted  such  entertainment 
without  any  regard  to  the  effect  it  might  have  upon 
your  state.  If  you  had  offended  him  so  that  he 
had  the  wish  to  murder  you,  he  could  not  have 
gone  about  it  better." 

Mopping  his  face,  he  continued  to  speak  at  in 
tervals  in  praise  of  discretion;  but  Rolf's  son  lost 
what  followed  by  reason  of  the  ringing  of  that  one 
sentence  in  his  ears — "  If  you  had  offended  him  so 
that  he  had  the  wish  to  murder  you,  he  could  not 
have  gone  about  it  better."  ...  It  seemed  that 
Helvin  had  thought  himself  offended  .  .  .  that 
murder  had  looked  out  of  his  eyes.  .  .  . 

His  head  falling  forward  upon  his  breast,  Rand 
var  stood  as  one  listening  to  an  evil  voice  within 
him. 


IX 


"Gift  always  looks  to  recompense" 

— Northern  saying. 

[HROUGH  the  dusk,  the  Skraelling 
fires  across  the  river  made  no  more 
showing  than  a  cluster  of  glow 
worms  on  a  log;  but  —  true  to  the 
saying  that  "  Famine-pinched  stom 
achs  are  the  greatest  gluttons" — the  Norse  fire- 
builders  had  heaped  wood  on  blaze  until  their 
forest  guest-house  revelled  in  a  brightness  as  of 
noonday. 

The  peace-party  had  been  back  for  the  space 
of  three  candle-burnings,  long  enough  for  the  first 
tumult  of  greeting  to  have  subsided,  and  yet  not 
so  long  but  that  the  aroma  of  the  new  interest 
still  flavored  the  air.  In  complacent  beard-strok 
ing  groups,  the  old  chiefs  stood  about  the  bank, 
congratulating  one  another  upon  the  advantages 
which  the  alliance  would  secure  to  the  fur-traffic 
and  the  trade  in  massur-wood.  Trying  on  shell 
necklaces  and  quill-embroidered  shoes,  Brynhild's 
women  were  turning  the  leaf-carpeted  slope  into 

140 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

a  bower.  In  the  hemlock  nook  which  had  been 
the  prison-chamber,  two  guardsmen  were  giving 
an  imitation  of  an  Indian  war-dance  which  sent 
the  pages  rolling  on  the  earth  in  convulsions  of 
merriment ;  and  near  by,  another  gathering  watched 
with  breathless  interest  while  Gunnar  the  Merry 
experimented  with  the  trophy  which  he  had 
brought  back, — a  strange  smoke-producing  imple 
ment  made  up  of  a  long  reed,  a  big  stone  thimble, 
and  a  pinch  of  strangely  smelling  leaves. 

Of  none  of  these  groups,  however,  was  the  Jarl 
or  his  song-maker  a  part.  Still  farther  up  the 
rising  ground,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  shadow- 
breeding  wood,  a  mighty  pine  had  toppled  over 
and  lay  head  downward,  its  huge  clod  of  roots 
and  soil  upturned  like  a  dead  giant's  feet.  There, 
skulking  wolf  -  like  in  the  shade,  Helvin  leaned 
against  the  writhen  mass,  bending  and  tearing  the 
tough  fibres  with  his  restless  hands ;  while  along  the 
huge  trunk  below  him,  as  a  panther  along  a  bough, 
the  deerskin-clad  figure  of  Rolf's  son  lay  stretched 
out. 

Now  and  again,  from  the  fireside  groups  came 
up  snatches  of  song  or  a  merry  outburst  of  voices. 
But  none  of  it  moved  the  Jarl  to  speech,  and  for 
once  the  Songsmith  chose  to  remain  under  cover 
of  custom  and  wait  until  he  was  addressed. 

Now  and  again,  a  largess  of  dead  leaves  caused 
141 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

a  grateful  dancing  of  the  flames  that  stretched  the 
circle  of  ruddy  light  even  to  the  timber's  edge. 
Gazing  upward,  Randvar  had  a  fleeting  glimpse 
of  the  brooding  white  face  on  which  that  strange, 
evil  expression  had  deepened  to  a  stain.  But  al 
ways  before  he  had  a  chance  to  study  it,  the  light 
failed. 

Convinced  at  last  that  he  fronted  the  unknown, 
he  waited  tense  as  a  bowstring,  alert  as  an  arrow. 
Almost  he  shot  from  his  place  when  low  laughter 
burst  from  Starkad's  son, — laughter  so  devil-like 
that  a  wave  of  coldness  started  at  his  neck  and 
rippled  down  to  his  heels. 

"You  think  yourself  a  sly  fox  as  you  lie  there 
watching  me!"  Helvin  said,  "but  you  need  not 
take  so  much  trouble.  I  have  got  over  the  wish 
to  kill  you." 

It  seemed  to  Randvar  as  if  the  rippling  wave 
must  have  frozen,  so  rigid  did  he  become. 

"Is  it  even  so,  then,  that  you  tried  to  betray 
me?"  he  asked  slowly. 

"  I  hope  you  did  not  look  for  anything  better 
from  me,"  Helvin  returned,  and  laughed  again. 

So  unbearable  was  the  low  sound  that  Randvar 
sat  up  sharply,  and  spoke  with  anger:  "I  did 
though!  I  expected  that  even  if  your  wrath  rose 
like  a  sea-wall  against  me,  you  would  vent  it  in 
some  honorable  way." 

142 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"You  know  better  now,"  Helvin  answered 
grimly. 

"That  is  certain,"  Randvar  assented  with  equal 
curtness ;  and  for  a  space  there  was  silence  between 
them,  save  for  the  sound  of  Kelvin's  hands  tear 
ing  the  root-fibres. 

In  the  low  choked  voice  of  one  holding  under  a 
fearful  force,  Helvin  broke  out  at  last.  "  I  never 
saw  a  greater  blockhead!  and  I  treated  you  bet 
ter  than  you  deserved.  It  mattered  not  that  you 
were  quick  to  mark  the  change  in  my  manner,— 
still  you  could  not  guess  that  from  the  time  the 
trees  closed  around  me,  I  saw  nothing  but  the  old 
troll's  twisted  face  in  every  shadow,  heard  nothing 
but  his  cursed  ghost  gibbering  vengeance  in  my 
ear!  Never  did  I  so  need  that  you  should  closely 
stand  by  me  with  your  fearless  mind;  and  what 
did  you  do,  instead,  but  bungle  it  so  that  I  had  to 
leave  you  behind!  I  can  tell  you  that  death  was 
likelier  than  life  as  you  stood  then.  I  wonder  I 
did  not  become  the  fiend  you  saw  at  the  Pool." 

"The  fiend  I  saw  at  the  Pool!"  Randvar  re 
peated,  and  the  impulse  to  face  standing  whatever 
might  lie  before  him  made  him  start  to  rise  to  his 
feet.  But  at  the  first  motion,  Kelvin's  hand  fell 
upon  his  shoulder  with  the  weight  of  a  lion's  paw 
and  crushed  him  back  upon  his  seat. 

"Now  are  you  hot-headed,"  he  snarled,  "and 
143 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

there  is  rashness  in  your  actions,  and  that  is  fool 
ish  in  a  cool-witted  man  like  you.  It  is  not  enough 
that  you  have  made  the  bargain  to  go  through 
Torment  with  me;  you  have  got  to  go  quietly. 
Quietly!  do  you  understand  that  or  not?  Ah! 
You  are  not  going  to  be  so  great  a  fool  as  to  strug 
gle. — Bear  in  mind  what  it  means  to  thwart  me!" 

But  it  was  not  the  gripping  hand  that  Randvar 
was  struggling  against,  though  the  fingers  had 
sunk  into  his  flesh  like  iron  hooks.  It  was  against 
that  awful  dizzy  madness  that  had  come  again 
upon  him  at  the  touch  of  Starkad's  son.  In  the 
same  flash  of  time  he  knew  two  things — that  his 
"gift"  was  making  him  aware  of  a  terrible  pres 
ence,  and  that  he  resented  that  gift  with  every 
fibre  of  his  forest-bred  body.  Doubly  racked,  he 
battled  for  the  space  of  a  heart-beat,  then  reached 
instinctively  for  the  sharp  medicine  of  his  blade. 

Even  as  his  flesh  tasted  it  and  his  disorder 
passed,  the  fire  leaped  redly,  revealing  the  blazing 
eyes  of  rage  above  him,  disclosing  his  horror- twisted 
mouth  to  the  Jarl.  With  a  stifled  cry,  Starkad's 
son  quitted  his  hold. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?  Oh  God, 
do  the  marks  show  on  me?  I  thought  I  should 
escape — escape — 

His  voice  lost  the  semblance  of  a  voice,  became 
an  inarticulate  wail ;  and  to  it  was  added  the  sound 

144 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

of  rending  cloth  as  he  started  up  in  his  lair.  In 
frantic  haste  he  strove  to  disentangle  his  cloak 
and  draw  it  up  over  his  breast  and  around  him  in  a 
hood ;  but  he  only  tangled  it  harder  and  pulled  the 
folds  awry  and  lost  the  end  from  between  his 
.numb  fingers.  Giving  up  the  attempt,  finally,  he 
cast  it  over  his  head  and  flung  himself  down  upon 
the  earth,  moaning  a  single  word  over  and  over 
like  a  wounded  bird  of  one  note. 

More  like  was  it  to  a  sound  of  bird  or  beast  than 
to  human  speech.  Every  nerve  strained  in  the 
endeavor  to  comprehend,  every  sense  baffled,  the 
song-maker  stood  staring  down  at  him.  At  last 
he  bent,  speaking  desperately: 

"  Either  you  are  dumb  or  I  am  deaf!  Make  me 
a  sign." 

Plunging  and  reeling,  the  black  shape  reared 
itself  from  the  ground ;  though  even  in  the  shadow 
it  would  not  uncover  its  face.  From  the  cloak- 
folds  came  forth  a  shaking  hand,  which  fell  on  the 
Songsmith 's  arm  and  groped  its  way  to  his  shoul 
der.  Brushing  his  cheek,  it  left  the  skin  wet, 
though  its  touch  was  the  touch  of  fire.  From  his 
shoulder,  it  passed  over  to  the  harp  at  his  back 
and  put  all  its  force  into  smiting  the  strings  into 
one  discordant  cry,  before  it  fell  back  into  the 
cloak-folds,  and  the  cloaked  form  fell  prone  upon 
the  earth. 

MS 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Randvar  understood  then  that  he  was  to  sing; 
and  before  he  was  erect,  the  harp  was  off  his  back. 
Like  the  voice  of  a  night-bird  pouring  out  its  soul 
to  the  listening  forest,  his  voice  rang  from  the 
shadow. 

Down  on  the  firelit  slope,  the  merry  groups, 
ceased  their  sports  and  gave  him  joyous  hearing; 
and  the  echoes  in  the  hills  across  the  splashing 
river  awoke  and  answered  him  sleepily;  but  of 
what  he  sang  he  had  no  consciousness,  nor  ever 
afterwards  could  recall  it.  Like  a  dead  thing 
lay  the  mound  at  his  feet;  and  as  flies  around  the 
dead,  his  thoughts  buzzed  around  its  secret. 

Slowly  understanding  came.  .  .  .  The  troll-temper 
of  the  father  had  descended  upon  the  son  .  .  .  De 
nied  the  vent  of  battle  -  fury,  it  had  taken  some 
uglier  shape,  some  monstrous  shape  that  galled 
the  Jarl's  pride  to  own !  ...  It  had  possessed  him 
that  day  at  the  Pool,  and  he  believed  that  the  for 
ester  had  seen  its  degrading  marks.  .  .  .  Its  marks! 
Shrinking,  Randvar's  memory  groped  among  the 
myriad  tales  he  had  heard  of  men  accursed  .  .  . 
yelping  teeth-gnashing  Berserkers  with  frothing 
distorted  mouths  .  .  .  souls  doomed  to  raven  in 
brutes'  bodies  .  .  .  wits  to  sleep  in  the  bestial  forms 
of  swinish  cinder-biters.  .  .  . 

Like  a  strain  falling  from  Valhalla  to  the  World 
of  the  Dead,  the  voice  of  Yrsa  the  Lovely  fell  pres- 

146 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ently  on  his  ear,  calling  out  a  merry  good-night 
as  she  went  away  with  the  rustling  train  of  women 
to  the  booths  that  had  been  erected  for  them.  A 
moment  his  gaze  wandered  to  follow  out  of  sight 
the  head  of  fiery  gold  that  moved  before  them,  but 
still  he  sang  on. 

Above  the  trees,  presently,  Night  raised  her 
silver  bow  and  shot  bright  arrows  through  the 
leafless  branches.  Watching  the  shafts  strike  and 
melt  into  pools  of  moonshine  at  his  feet,  his  eyes 
lost  their  alertness;  his  song  grew  dreamy,  slack 
ened  and  sank  low  as  the  note  of  a  dreaming  bird. 
But  still  he  kept  on. 

Breathing  the  melody  rather  than  singing  it, 
he  saw  unheeding  how  the  bright  beams  reached 
to  the  cloak-wrapped  form  and  groped  like  hands 
along  it;  he  was  slow  in  realizing  that  one  of  the 
pale  spots  in  the  shadow  was  not  moonlight,  but 
a  wan  face  upturned.  His  song  ended  in  a  gasp, 
when  the  truth  did  come  home  to  him.  Sometime 
he  stood  motionless  before  he  dared  speak  and  ask : 

"Lord,  how  is  it  with  you?"   . 

The  answer  came  out  of  the  shadow,  "  It  is  well 
with  me,"  but  no  minor  chord  ever  made  the 
song-maker's  heart  swell  in  his  breast  as  did  the 
voice  in  which  the  words  were  spoken.  It  be 
came  nothing  to  him  what  mask  the  tortured  face 
might  be  wearing.  Kneeling  beside  the  prostrate 

i47 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

body,  he  raised  it  up  until  the  mass  of  blood-red 
hair  rested  even  on  his  shoulder. 

As  a  drowned  man  rises  out  of  the  deeps,  so  the 
Jarl  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  shadow  into  the 
moonlight.  And  as  the  face  of  one  who  has 
known  the  agony  of  buffeting  waves,  so  was  his 
face  blanched  and  drawn;  but  no  other  mark  was 
upon  him.  Only  infinite  weariness  was  on  the 
finely  cut  mouth;  in  the  sea -gray  eyes,  only  in 
finite  sadness.  The  swelling  of  the  song-maker's 
heart  became  a  sharp  pain  in  his  throat. 

But  the  Jarl  said  gently:  "Once  when  I  had 
fallen  into  such  a  strait  as  this,  I  would  not  accept 
your  help.  See  now  how  I  lean  on  you !  There  will 
ever  be  most  help  in  you  when  there  is  most  need 
of  it.  My  true  friend,  for  this — this! — what  shall 
requite  you?"  He  put  up  his  hand;  and  because 
Randvar  could  not  speak,  he  wrung  it  in  silence. 

Then  gradually  Helvin's  strength  came  back  to 
him ,  so  that  he  put  out  his  other  hand  and  taking 
hold  of  a  branch,  drew  himself  to  his  feet,  and 
stood  supported  half  by  the  tree,  half  by  the 
shoulder  of  the  Songsmith. 

"Soon  are  my  powers  renewed  in  me,"  he  said. 
"Even  as  David  did  for  Saul,  you  cast  the  devil 
out;  and  before  he  had  gone  his  length — God! 
the  length  he  goes!  Can  you  raise  before  yaur 
mind  what  my  state  was  that  day,  when  I  turned 

148 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

and  espied  a  man  watching  me  from  the  bushes? 
When  my  arrow  missed  him,  and  I  knew  that  my 
secret  was  loose  in  the  world?  Ah!  I  do  not 
want  to  remember  that!  Wine!  Give  me  wine!" 

Randvar's  hand  unfastened  the  flask  from  his 
neck  without  the  knowledge  of  his  wits,  that  were 
like  thunder  in  his  ears,  roaring  explanation  of  all 
that  had  puzzled  him.  Out  of  the  tumult,  he 
spoke  earnestly: 

"Jarl,  I  am  five  weeks  too  slow  in  telling  you 
that  a  great  mistake  has  been  made.  It  is  the 
truth  that  horror  drove  me  mad  that  day,  but  not 
horror  of  you, — never  of  you!  Listen!  Even  as  I 
stepped  from  the  bushes  and  saw  the  Pool  and  saw 
you—" 

On  the  Songsmith's  lips,  Kelvin's  hand  fell  light 
ly.  Wincing,  he  had  turned  away. 

"Let  not  that  be  put  into  words  which  in 
thought  alone  is  more  than  I  can  bear!"  he  said. 
"Besides,  to  what  end  is  it?  I  know  that  it  was 
not  from  me  that  you  shrank,  but  from  the  devil 
that  uses  my  body;  and  for  any  hatred  you  feel 
towards  that,  or  harm  you  do  it — if  ever  you  come 
together,  which  God  avert ! — you  need  have  no  re 
morse.  Though  all  your  power  were  bent  upon  it, 
you  could  never  hate  it — abhor — 

A  shuddering  fit  shook  him,  so  that  words  be 
came  but  bubbles  of  sound  bursting  idly  on  his 

149 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

lips.  When  he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  very 
low. 

"  Bitter  is  it  to  speak  of!  For  love's  sake,  spare 
me  the  need.  I  know  now  that — even  with  that 
vision  before  your  eyes — your  song-maker's  spirit 
was  able  to  separate  me  from  the  Thing  which 
Fate  has  linked  me  to.  Had  not  myself  ex 
perienced  it,  I  would  not  have  believed  any  man 
brave  enough  to  make  that  separation.  Times 
there  are  when  7  cannot  make  it;  when  I  loathe 
myself  as  Satan  never  loathed  himself,  else  would 
his  heart  change  and  the  world  be  sinless!  I  call 
your  help  no  more  than  it  is  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  should  die  of  self-horror  if  I  could  not  look  at 
you  and  say,  '  I  am  not  beyond  the  pale,  for  here 
is  a  man  who  gives  me  friendship  and  honor  even 
while  knowing  the  worst  of  me!"!  His  voice, 
which  had  sunk  to  an  unsteady  breath,  was  smoth 
ered  out  as  he  pressed  his  face  against  the  rough 
bark  of  the  tree. 

The  Songsmith  did  not  use  the  opportunity, 
however,  to  finish  the  explanation  he  had  begun. 
Instead,  he  stood  staring  down  at  the  sleeping 
camp  and  weighing  the  possibility  of  seeming  to 
have  this  knowledge,  foreseeing  the  blind  maze  he 
should  enter  on,  the  sword  he  should  hang  over 
his  life,  the  horror  to  which  he  should  bind  himself. 

It  was  Helvin  who  ended  the  pause,  as  he  had 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

made  it.  Turning,  he  laid  both  hands  on  Rand- 
var's  shoulders,  and  as  he  spoke,  looked  lovingly 
into  his  face. 

"  Good  is  your  singing  and  your  service,  but  your 
friendship  is  worth  still  more!  Such  it  is,  that  no 
reward  can  match  it, — the  joy  of  giving  must  be 
its  own  reward.  Only  can  I  tell  you  what  it  has 
meant  to  me  that  never  hoped  to  know  the  sup 
port  of  a  friend.  When  my  dreams  we're  bright 
est,  I  dreamed  only  of  getting  good- will  by  hiding 
the  truth.  What  makeshift  would  that  have  been ! 
What  peace  is  this!  Greater  loss  to  me  than  to 
you  would  it  have  been  if  you  had  lost  your  life 
to-day.  My  friend,  I  do  not  ask  that  this  may  be 
forgiven  me,  for  that  would  be  to  own  that  it  was 
I  who  sought  to  work  you  harm,  and  that  fiend 
was  not  I.  Yet  this  I  will  say,  that  I  should  think 
it  the  best  gift  I  ever  got  if  you  could  tell  me  with 
a  whofe  heart  that  this  has  not  caused  any  breach 
to  rise  in  our  friendship." 

After  a  little,  the  Songsmith  raised  his  bowed 
head  and  met  the  gray  eyes  steadily. 

"My  love  is  great,  lord,  towards  many  men," 
he  said,  "but  towards  none  so  much  as  you.  Till 
my  death-day,  I  will  hold  to  my  faithfulness  to 
you." 


X 


"It  must  be  worse  before  it  gets  better" 

— Northern  saying. 

fIS  ruddy  face  thrice  ruddy  with 
cold,  Bolverk,  the  guardsman,  came 
stamping  into  the  great  trading- 
booth,  kicked  the  door  shut  upon 
the  ice-bound  out-of-doors  and  let 
go  a  shivering  breath  of  appreciation  at  the  sight 
of  the  fur-littered  weapon-hung  room,  down  whose 
middle  fires  were  leaping,  and  along  whose  wall- 
benches  shaggy-maned  hunters  and  sleek-locked 
Skraellings  sat  consuming  hot  drink  in  the  inter 
vals  of  bargaining. 

"Hail,  friends!"  he  greeted  the  company.  "Now 
does  the  bread  of  life  seem  to  be  buttered  on  both 
sides!  Here  are  you  on  the  inside,  as  snug  as  fleas 
on  a  goat;  and  outside,  I  just  met  a  young  one 
merry  because  his  breath  froze  in  such  clouds  that 
he  had  only  to  stick  a  knob-ended  root  between 
his  lips  to  have  the  appearance  of  smoking  like  a 
Skraelling." 

The  double  row  of  faces  that  had  turned  towards 
152 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

him  answered  variously  by  grins  or  jests  or  grunts, 
but  the  trader's  headman  looked  up  from  the  heap 
of  beaver  skins  that  thralls  were  sorting  before 
him  to  wave  a  cordial  hand. 

"Now  this  day  seems  to  have  been  set  for  the 
return  of  long-absent  people!  Welcome  to  you, 
Bolverk  the  Bold!  Not  so  much  as  a  hair  have  I 
seen  of  you  for  three  months  and  more." 

"That  is  easily  true,"  the  guardsman  assented, 
"for  since  Treaty  Day  I  have  camped  as  far  south 
as  Freya's  Tower.  And  I  have  worn  out  my  shoes 
there,  as  you  may  see.  How  long  would  it  be 
before  you  could  look  me  up  another  pair?  From 
the  appearance  of  your  benches,  I  should  not  say 
that  the  lack  of  my  custom  had  caused  suffering 
to  you." 

"  Nay,  it  is  your  company  that  we  have  suffered 
for,"  the  trader's  man  answered,  as  became  a 
trader's  man.  "  But  I  need  not  keep  you  waiting 
if  you  will  give  to  Eldir,  here,  one  of  your  old  shoes 
for  a  sample." 

He  beckoned  a  bondsman  to  attend  on  the 
guard,  while  with  his  head  he  signed  another 
thrall  to  bring  forward  the  smoking  ale;  and  Bol 
verk  succumbed  contentedly  into  a  seat. 

"Mind  this,  that  you  get  me  a  pair  that  is 
easy  across  the  toes,"  he  admonished  the  slave 
kneeling  before  him.  Then  he  stretched  out  his 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

hand  to  take  the  offering  of  the  one  standing  be 
side  him,  and  questioned  lazily  as  he  sipped :  "  Who 
are  the  rest  of  the  long- absent  people  who  have 
arrived?" 

"Some  score  of  them  you  may  see  before  you; 
and  in  that  end  room  yonder,  among  the  gold 
things,  is  Olaf,  Thorgrim's  son, — the  most  open- 
handed  man!  Since  Treaty  Day,  for  some  reason, 
he  has  turned  his  back  on  the  court  and  dwelt  at 
the  house  of  Mord  the  Grim,  and  only— 

Bolverk  left  off  sipping  to  interrupt  joyfully: 
"Now  I  wonder  if  it  is  going  to  happen  that  there 
is  a  fight?  As  I  turned  in  here,  I  looked  down  a 
lane  and  saw  Randvar  the  Songsmith  headed  in 
this  direction." 

The  row  of  hunters  straightened,  some  of  them 
rolling  on  their  tongues  the  word  "fight";  some 
raising  their  horns  with  shouts  of  "The  Song- 
smith!"  but  the  trader's  man  shook  his  head  above 
the  furs  to  which  he  had  turned  back. 

"They  cannot  lock  horns.  The  lawmen  have 
bound  them  to  peace,  on  pain  of  outlawry  to  the 
one  who  breaks  it.  On  the  way  home  from  the 
treaty  -  making,  it  befell  that  the  Songsmith  flew 
at  Olaf,  and  would  have  given  him  a  swift  death 
if  men  had  not  come  between  them.  They  do 
not  dare  to  do  aught  else  than  be  good.  It  is 
unlikely,  moreover,  that  the  Songsmith  has  the 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

slightest  intention  of  coming  hither.  So  long  as 
he  has  that  deerskin-husk  and  that  battered  sword, 
no  use  has  he  for  a  trading-booth." 

Disapproval  was  in  the  headman's  gesture  as 
he  kicked  aside  the  fur  heap  he  had  finished  ex 
amining.  But  Bolverk  shook  his  helmed  head  in 
disapproval  of  him. 

"  It  is  your  traders'  thrift  that  talks  now,  com 
rade,  not  your  Norse  spirit,"  he  said.  "Some  bad 
habits  the  Fates  allot  every  man  at  his  birth ;  and 
he  should  be  considered  lucky  who  uses  up  his 
allowance  of  them  on  clothes,  and  keeps  his  mind 
high  and  his  courage  without  stain,  as  Randvar, 
Rolf's  son,  has  done." 

"  Yes,  yes !"  chorussed  the  fur-clad  hunters,  bang 
ing  the  benches  with  their  fists.  And  the  young 
est  of  them  brought  his  drink-drenched  body 
upright  with  a  jerk,  and  tried  to  look  severely 
through  sleepy  eyes. 

"  Whosoever  says  aught  slighting  of  Rolf's  son 
gives  offence  to  me,"  he  made  announcement.  "I 
1-ove  him  because  he  wears  clothes  like  mine.  I 
1-1-ove  him  because  he  is  poor.  I  1-1-1 — 

"Poor!"  The  trader's  man  laughed  impatient 
ly.  "Good  Bend-the-Bow,  are  you  too  drunk 
to  understand  that  I  am  talking  about  the  Jarl's 
favorite,  whose  shabby  belt  -  pouch  is  fuller  of 
gold  than  your  head  of  wits,  —  even  when  you 


Randvar   the   Songsmith 

are  sober  and  they  are  all  at  home?  If  he  were 
still  a  ringless  forester,  who  would  stir  tongue 
about  his  habits?  It  is  because  he  has  gold  to 
spend  but  is  too  careless  to  do  it,  that  he  has 
my  blame;  and  I  would  lay  my  purse  on  it  that 
this  is  a  part  of  the  cause  why  he  has  lost  credit 
with  the  Jarl's  sister,  as  gossips  say  he  has.  Yet 
you  need  not  think  that  I  undervalue  what  is  in 
side  his  shell.  Far  and  wide,  it  is  known  that  he 
brought  this  treaty  to  pass  which  is  going  to  send 
such  ship-loads  to  Norway  in  the  spring  as  never 
left  port  before.  For  that,  all  traders  lift  their 
horns  to  him;  and  I  should  dislike  to  have  it  come 
to  his  ears  that  I— 

"Then  hold  your  peace  for  here  he  comes!"  the 
guardsman  interrupted,  and  stood  up  with  a  genial 
bellow  to  pitch  at  the  opening  door  one  of  the  shoes 
which  a  thrall  had  just  handed  him. 

It  was  a  rash  act  since  the  new-comer  might 
just  as  easily  have  been  the  Jarl  as  the  Jarl's  song- 
maker — the  trading-house  standing  at  the  junction 
of  many  paths — but  it  came  to  no  bad  end  for  the 
doorway  actually  did  frame  the  tall  sinewy  form 
of  Randvar,  Rolf's  son,  his  harp  occupying  a  cloak's 
place  at  his  back.  At  sight  of  him,  even  the  Skrael- 
lings  changed  from  bronze  images  into  men  with  cor 
dial  eyes ;  while  the  hunters  swung  up  their  horns 
with  a  burst  of  cheers.  Barely  they  gave  him  time 

156 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

to  hand  over  his  broken  harp  to  the  trader's  man 
before  they  forced  him  into  the  place  they  had 
made  for  him,  plied  him  with  drink,  with  toasts, 
with  questions  and  banter.  Bolverk  was  obliged 
to  limp  over  in  one  shoe  to  get  a  seat  beside  him, 
and  get  his  attention  for  the  confidences  with 
which  he  was  bursting. 

They  seemed  to  be  of  a  nature  more  absorbing 
to  the  teller  than  to  the  listener  for  even  while  he 
gave  one  ear  to  them,  Randvar  left  the  other  open 
to  the  hunter's  chaff,  and  broke  out  restlessly, 
now  and  again,  to  gibe  back  or  to  answer  in  their 
own  tongue  some  inquiries  from  his  Skraelling 
friends.  But  he  did  not  fail  to  make  the  required 
promise  to  go  down  to  the  wedding-feast  in  the 
spring,  and  aroused  himself  with  proper  enthu 
siasm  when  the  lover  came  at  last  to  an  exulting 
climax. 

" There!  If  you  can  anywhere  see  a  better  look 
out  than  that,  I  shall  say  your  eyesight  is  keener 
than  Erna's." 

"Nothing  but  the  sun's  can  equal  it  in  bright 
ness!  I  call  upon  every  man  who  hears  my  voice 
to  drink  to  your  luck  at  my  expense,"  the  Song- 
smith  answered  promptly,  and  drew  a  handful  of 
silver  rings  from  his  shabby  pouch. 

If  cup-wishes  count,  never  was  bride  more  richly 
dowered  than  Snowfrid  of  Freya's  Tower.  When 

157 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

it  was  over,  the  beaming  Bolverk  slapped  his  pros 
pective  foster  -  kinsman  affectionately  upon  the 
back. 

"Nowhere  have  I  found  a  better  comrade  than 
you!  To  talk  one's  affairs  over  with  you  is  a 
good  help.  Now  let  me  show  as  much  friendship 
and  hear  how  matters  have  fared  with  you,  these 
three  months.  I  can  see  one  thing  that  you  have 
not  done,  and  that  is  to  get  fat." 

An  old  trapper  clad  in  bear's  fur  uttered  a  bear- 
like  grunt. 

"Huh!  See  the  gainfulness  of  having  young 
eyes!  As  soon  as  the  boy  came  into  the  room,  I 
saw  that  there  were  lines  between  his  eyebrows 
like  a  wagon's  ruts, — and  not  an  empty  wagon, 
either!  Better  take  to  the  forest  again,  Rolf's 
son,  if  it  weighs  so  heavily  upon  your  spirit  to  be 
a  Jarl's  favorite." 

"  Better  come  back  to  the  forest  than  bear  any 
harness!"  the  young  hunter  who  sat  next  to  the 
Songsmith  cried  scornfully ;  and  a  chorus  rose  after 
him: 

"  Never  did  I  think  you  would  stand  it,  who 
hate  rules  as  a  bear  hates  a  chain!" 

"You  are  a  fool  to  stay  in  it — 

"Sooner  should  the  Troll  take  me  than  I  should 
follow  a  man  who  behaved  overbearingly,  as  one 
of  Starkad's  breed  must  needs— 

158 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"It  is  not  possible  that  you  can  be  contented  in 
his  service— 

"Come  back—" 

"What  is  the  jest?" 

"What  is  the  cause  of  your  grinning?" 

The  song-maker's  smile  ended  in  his  short  laugh. 

"You,"  he  answered.  "It  crossed  my  mind  to 
fancy  myself  listening  to  a  pack  of  wild  wolves 
yelping  at  a  tame  one,  who  had  found  love  for  a 
man  and  followed  him  home  and  broken  himself  to 
house- ways.  But  I  will  give  you  a  better  answer 
than  that  to  your  foolishness." 

He  leaned  forward  where  all  could  see  him,  the 
fire  showing  his  thin  face  to  be  unmistakably 
earnest. 

"  For  what  you  said  about  Kelvin's  behavior 
towards  me,  I  will  tell  you  the  first  half  of  a  say 
ing  the  courtmen  have  made,  which  is  altogether 
truthful,  and  which  is  this :  '  If  the  Jarl's  song- 
maker  should  want  the  Jarl's  crown  for  a  dog- 
collar,  he  would  have  to  do  no  more  than  ask  for 
it.'  And  now,  for  what  you  said  about  my  liking 
his  service,  I  will  give  you  the  rest  of  the  saying, 
which  is  even  more  true  than  what  went  before: 
'And  if  it  should  happen  to  the  Jarl  to  want  the 
Songsmith's  head  for  a  hand-ball,  he  would  have 
to  do  no  more  than  ask  for  that.'  Is  it  clear  to 
you  now  or  not?" 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

The  hunters  had  no  opportunity  to  answer. 
While  they  were  still  adjusting  their  minds  to  the 
amazing  conviction  that  their  one-time  comrade 
had  meant  what  he  said,  the  door  was  flung  open 
with  a  flourish.  In  all  his  bravery  of  embroidered 
cloak  and  silver-spurred  riding-boots,  Eric  the  Page 
appeared  and  proclaimed  in  his  young  treble : 

"Way  for  the  Jarl's  sister!" 

It  was  the  first  time  the  woodsmen  had  seen 
this  woodland  sprig  in  his  splendor.  To  assail  him 
with  familiar  greetings  and  ironical  comment  be 
came  instantly  their  sole  object  in  life,  carried  on 
under  their  breath  even  after  the  Jarl's  sister  had 
entered,  and  they  had  scrambled  to  their  feet  in 
rough  homage.  Randvar  was  able  to  step  unob 
served  behind  a  smoke-blackened  pillar  and  gaze 
with  what  bitterness  he  would  upon  the  face  that 
his  pride  had  come  to  curse  by  day  while  his  love 
starved  for  it  in  his  dreams. 

"  I  would  give  all  I  own  in  the  world  had  I  not 
known  how  to  smile!"  his  heart  cried  out  in  sud 
den  sharp  wretchedness.  Then  he  cursed  himself 
for  a  fool,  cursed  her  vanity  for  a  curse  worse  than 
Kelvin's,  and  wore  the  rut  deeper  between  his 
heavy  brows  with  scowling  at  her  as  she  passed. 

Of  rich  purple,  fur-edged,  was  the  mantle  that 
hung  from  her  fine  shoulders;  and  purple  was  the 
velvet  hood  that  lay  like  an  evening  cloud  upon 

1 60 


Randvar   the   Songsmith 

the  sunset  glory  of  her  hair ;  but  it  needed  not  the 
royal  coloring  to  betoken  the  loftiness  of  her  tem 
per.  Even  more  than  its  wonted  haughtiness 
was  in  the  carriage  of  her  head  as  she  moved  up 
the  long  room  and  passed  into  the  inner  chamber, 
which  was  the  shrine  of  the  jewelled  ornaments 
and  gold  things. 

Bolverk  shut  one  eye  expressively,  when  the  fox- 
skin  curtain  had  fallen  behind  her  and  her  page. 

"Every  man  to  his  taste!"  he  said.  "Yet  I  for 
one  feel  no  envy  of  Olaf ,  Thorgrim's  son,  that  he  is 
kissing  her  fingers  at  this  moment.  Give  me  Snow- 
frid  with  the  kissable  mouth!"  He  was  reaching 
for  his  horn  to  seal  the  sentiment  when  Randvar's 
hand  closed  on  his  arm. 

"Is  Olaf,  Thorgrim's  son,  in  there?"  the  Song- 
smith  asked  in  his  ear. 

The  man-at-arms  regarded  him  admonishingly. 
"Why,  I  think  they  say  he  is.  But  they  say  also 
that  the  one  of  you  two  who  begins  a  fight  will  get 
outlawed." 

Randvar  made  no  answer ;  his  gaze  had  gone  back 
to  the  door-curtain.  If  the  French  One  should  re 
main  there  after  she  entered,  it  would  be  a  sign 
that  his  disfavor  was  at  an  end,  that  she  had  taken 
him  back  into  her  friendship—  He  broke  off  to 
watch  with  suspended  breath. 

Dashing  the  fox  -  skins  aside,  Mord  the  Grim 
161 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

stamped  through  the  door;  and  after  him  Olaf 
backed  into  the  room,  bowing  ceremoniously  be 
fore  the  presence  he  was  leaving.  If  further  proof 
were  needed  that  the  greeting  of  the  Jarl's  sister 
had  not  been  cordial,  that  proof  was  furnished  as 
he  turned  on  the  threshold  and  espied  his  rival 
watching  him.  Seizing  his  sword-hilt,  regardless 
of  Mord's  shrill  expostulations,  he  strode  towards 
the  Songsmith. 

They  seemed  for  once  to  have  changed  places 
for  Randvar  made  no  more  motion  to  attack  than 
to  evade,  only  stood  smiling  at  him  in  unconcealed 
malicious  enjoyment.  When  Thorgrim's  son  was 
within  a  pace  of  him,  he  took  off  his  fur  cap  and 
swept  him  a  salute  mockingly  elaborate,  then 
folded  his  arms  upon  his  breast  in  the  formal  sign 
of  peace. 

White  on  purple  showed  the  veins  of  Olaf 's  fore 
head,  as  he  came  to  a  stand-still  before  the  exas 
perating  figure.  Perhaps  even  at  the  price  of 
banishment  he  would  have  purchased  revenge,  if 
his  friends  had  not  saved  him  from  the  rash  bar 
gain.  To  the  utter  disgust  of  the  by-standers, 
three  of  the  traders'  men  seized  upon  him  now 
and  with  respectful  words  but  peremptory  hands, 
dragged  him  past  temptation  and  out  of  the  door. 

Raising  a  chorus  of  disappointment,  the  loungers 
closed  again  around  the  laughing  Songsmith,  scold- 

162 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

ing  him,  some  of  them,  for  not  preferring  banish 
ment  to  a  life  of  such  restraint ;  others  chaffing  him 
for  his  decline  in  spirit;  while  the  Skraellings  be 
came  almost  urgent  in  their  desire  to  understand 
why  two  men  should  start  to  fight  each  other  and 
stop  before  either  was  killed. 

Lingering  to  buckle  his  many  mantles,  old  Mord 
watched  the  group.  When  at  last  he  was  muffled 
for  his  ride,  he  halted  on  his  way  out  to  look  at 
the  jesting  song -maker  from  under  an  arch  of 
bristling  brows. 

"Since  I  see  what  a  man  you  are  to  get  friends 
behind  you,"  he  said,  "my  wonder  grows  less  at 
the  boldness  you  showed  at  the  treaty-making. 
Soon,  instead  of  the  favorite  of  the  Jarl,  you  will 
be  calling  yourself  the  favorite  of  New  Norway." 

Over  the  ring  of  tow  manes  surrounding  him, 
Randvar  gave  back  his  look  carelessly,  wondering 
what  new  fuel  his  fiery  prejudice  had  chanced  upon. 
He  found  out  when  Mord  had  reached  the  door  and, 
opening  it,  flung  this  parting  shot  over  his  shoulder. 

"A  most  beloved  man  you  appear  to  be, — I  bid 
you  only  beware  how  you  carry  it  too  far.  The 
sagas  do  not  lack  instances  of  king-born  men  whose 
bane  came  out  of  their  boldness.  It  would  be  un 
lucky  if  some  one  should  whisper  to  the  Jarl  that 
you  are  ambitious  to  get  more  popularity  than 
he  has." 

163 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

The  Songsmith  doffed  his  merry  mood  at  that, 
his  eyes  narrowing  dangerously.  Then  they  widened 
in  dismay  as  darting  past  Mord  to  the  threshold, 
they  encountered  the  gray-clad  form  of  the  Jarl 
himself,  silhouetted  against  the  white  glare  of  the 
sunlit  snow. 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  Starkad's  son  ap 
peared  to  be  the  only  one  at  ease.  Inclining  his 
head  in  acknowledgment  of  the  advice-giver's  sa 
lute  and  the  hunters'  uncertain  murmur,  he  came 
slowly  forward,  drawing  off  his  furred  gloves. 

"That  is  rightly  said,"  he  assented,  "that  if  such 
a  whisper  should  come  to  my  ears  it  would  be  very 
unlucky.  The  prophecy  is  wrong  only  in  hinting 
that  it  is  for  the  song-maker  that  the  bad  luck 
would  come  in."  He  answered  with  a  reproach 
ful  look  Randvar's  look  of  relief. 

What  Mord  answered  could  not  be  heard  for  the 
cheers  that  the  hunters  let  forth  for  Helvin  Jarl. 
Only  the  slamming  of  the  door  behind  the  advice- 
giver  made  a  faint  jar. 

The  Jarl  thanked  them  graciously  when  the 
racket  was  over,  then  addressed  himself  to  his 
friend : 

"So  long  was  your  harp-string  in  mending  that 
it  pleased  me  to  come  on  here  and  look  for  an 
arrow-ornament  to  take  the  place  of  the  one  I  lost. 
Let  us  betake  ourselves  now  to  the  search.  It  is 

164 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

likely  to  be  in  the  inner  chamber  among  the  gold 
things."  Laying  a  hand  upon  Randvar's  shoulder, 
he  moved  him  forward,  speaking  carelessly  of  this 
or  that  weapon  on  the  wall. 

But  only  so  long  as  they  were  within  ear-shot 
of  the  groups  on  the  benches  did  the  Songsmith 
yield  to  the  pressure.  Fire-color  had  flamed  in 
his  face.  By  main  force  he  came  at  last  to  a 
stand-still,  and  spoke  without  looking  at  his  com 
panion  : 

"I  think,  lord,  that  I  will  not  go  in  with  you. 
I  am  not  used  to  so  much  heat — and  the  smell  of 
the  furs —  I  will  await  you  under  the  oak.  I  find 
that — I  am  not  well.  By  your  leave!" 

But  the  tightening  of  his  lord's  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  showed  that  he  did  not  have  his  leave. 

"Not  well?  What  nonsense  is  here!  It  was 
on  my  tongue  to  say  that  not  since  Treaty  Day 
have  I  seen  you  wear  such  a  merry  face.  For 
more  than  two  months  have  you  moped  like  a 
captive  hawk,  with  sullen  temper  and  feathers 
adroop,  but  now—  Why,  it  was  the  first  thing 
I  marked  when  I  looked  through  the  door  and 
saw  you  bantering  with  your  hunter  friends! 
Comrade,  swear  to  me  that  your  mind  -  sickness 
is  not  homesickness.  If  I  should  think  that  the 
fetters  of  my  service  were  eating  into  your  brave 
.heart—" 

165 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"I  swear  I  have  no  homesickness." 

" God  is  to  be  thanked  for  that!  Take  oath  also 
that  I  would  have  no  power  to  straighten  the 
threads  if  you  should  tell  me  what  the  snarl  is." 

The  song-maker  flung  back  his  hair  restlessly 
from  his  face  of  fierce  unhappiness.  "Jarl,  it 
stings  my  pride  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  hide 
from  you  the  soreness  of  my  mind.  Let  it  pass 
for  the  spring  sap  working  in  me.  I  take  oath 
that  no  man  alive  can  give  me  aught  I  want.  Be 
pleased,  lord,  since  it  is  your  will!"  As  with  one 
hand  he  put  the  matter  aside,  with  the  other  he 
put  aside  the  fox-skin  curtain.  After  a  moment, 
Helvin  yielded  and  entered. 

It  was  plainly  indifferent  to  the  Jarl  that  Bryn- 
hild  the  Proud  should  chance  to  be  coming  from 
the  iron-bound  chests,  preceded  by  a  walking  heap 
of  rainbow  silks.  He  returned  her  reverence  with 
a  courtly  greeting,  then  turned  and  made  a  kindly 
motion  towards  the  figure  drawn  up  rigid  as  a 
spear-shaft  in  the  shadow  of  the  doorway. 

"We  have  seen  little  of  you,  my  kinswoman, 
since  you  made  the  winter  weather  an  excuse  for 
staying  away  from  our  feasts,"  he  added,  "yet  do 
not  lose  us  your  remembrance.  Will  you  not  give 
a  greeting  to  my  song-maker  here?  It  is  not  un 
likely  that  he  has  felt  the  lack  of  your  presence  as 
much  as  you  have  missed  his  songs." 

166 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Perforce,  the  Songsmith  plucked  the  cap  from 
his  head  and  advanced.  Perforce,  her  gaze  was 
turned  upon  him. 

"Oh,  is  it  your  song-maker?"  she  said  indiffer 
ently.  "  I  thought  one  of  the  woodsmen  had  fol 
lowed  you  in  to  get  some  hunting-gear."  Delib 
erately  she  looked  him  up  and  down,  her  gray 
eyes  more  forbidding  than  a  gray  ice- waste  under 
Northern  skies.  With  a  shrug  she  turned  from 
him  at  last. 

"  If  you  please,  brother,  I  think  I  would  rather 
not  greet  him,"  she  said.  "Better  that  we  should 
look  on  it  as  though  he  were  a  woodsman  after  all, 
who  might  mistake  my  condescension  and  become 
forward." 

Courtesying  as  low  as  her  manner  was  high,  she 
swept  past  the  Jarl  and  through  the  door,  beyond 
which  the  silk-laden  page  was  awaiting  her. 


XI 


"A  wise  man's  guess  is  a  prophecy" 

— Northern  saying. 

UT  in  the  long  trading-hall  there  was 
a  confusion  of  shuffling  feet,  as  the 
company  rose  to  show  respect  to 
the  Jarl's  kinswoman;  but  over  the 
inner  chamber  such  silence  reigned 
that  the  rows  of  rich  garments  hanging  around 
the  walls  took  on  the  semblance  of  listening  fig 
ures.  Rooted  where  his  sister  had  left  him,  the 
Jarl  stood  gazing  incredulously  at  his  friend,  and 
the  song-maker's  head  was  bowed  over  the  cap  he 
was  tearing  in  strips. 

Helvin  said  at  last:  "Songsmith,  you  took  oath 
that  no  man  could  give  you  aught, — is  it  as  it 
would  seem,  that  what  you  desire  is  a  woman's 
help?" 

The  Songsmith  made  no  other  answer  than  a 
movement  of  his  bent  shoulders,  but  that  was 
answer  enough.  Starkad's  son  said  disgustedly: 

"This  is  how  it  is,  then, — you  have  sulked  and 
chafed  for  lack  of  my  sister's  favor,  even  though 

168 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

you  have  my  friendship  and  every  honor  that 
friendship  can  devise.  There  is  more  shame  in 
your  falling  before  her  than  of  all  men  else.  I 
wonder  not  that  you  were  ashamed  to  own  it  to 
me.  To  confess  that  after  all  your  boasted  wild- 
ness  you  had  put  on  her  yoke  as  tamely  as  any 
mincing  courtman  among  them!  Tamely?  Cra- 
venly !  How  does  this  hang  together,  that  you  have 
a  man's  pride  yet  like  any  whipped  hound  give  love 
in  return  for  abuse!" 

"Trolls,  lord!"  the  song-maker  gasped,  flinging 
his  cap  on  the  floor. 

Helvin  made  a  change  from  scorn  to  sternness. 
Placing  his  foot  upon  an  iron-bound  chest,  he  set 
his  elbow  on  his  knee  in  an  attitude  of  exhortation. 

"  Curse  and  stamp  as  much  as  suits  you,  —  I 
should  do  no  friend's  part  if  I  did  not  deal  severely 
with  you.  You  go  not  hence  until  I  have  given 
you  such  a  bitter  dose  as  shall  cure  your  mind  of 
that  sickness  while  life  lasts  in  you.  So  take 
breath  to  swallow— 

Randvar  let  breath  go,  instead,  in  desperate 
protest.  "It  needs  not,  lord!  I  am  cured.  Could 
you  give  me  anything  to  equal  her  look  in  bitter 
ness?  I  am  cured  from  this  day  forth.  Give  me 
leave  to  go." 

But  the  Jarl's  out-stretched  arm  made  a  bar 
across  the  path  to  the  door. 

169 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"  Too  sudden  is  your  recovery ;  it  suggests  that  of 
a  child  who  sees  the  medicine-bowl  coming  his  way. 
It  has  come  to  this,  that  I  shall  be  convinced  only 
when  we  have  talked  the  matter  out  at  length 
and—  What!  wincing  already?  Is  that  a  sign 
of  sound  flesh?  Face  about,  there!  You  may 
make  up  your  mind  to  one  of  two  things:  either 
to  answer  my  questions  'and  so  disgust  yourself 
with  your  folly,  or  else  to  listen  while  I  drag  your 
weakness  forth  into  such  bright  light  as— 

"  I  will  answer,"  Randvar  said  between  his  teeth, 
and  set  them  hard. 

"  Begin  then  by  telling  me  what  I  think  I  know 
already,  that  she  had  no  reason  for  believing  her 
dignity  trod  upon." 

"Who  shall  say  what  looks  like  reason  to  a 
woman?  If  you  must  know,  she  had  this  much 
cause  that  on  Treaty  Day  we  disputed  together 
about  a  matter  and  in  an  evil  hour  it  happened 
that  I  was  proved  to  be  right,  and  when  I  saw  it, 
I  smiled, — no  more  than  a  twitching  back  of  the 
lips,  lord!  In  the  same  breath  I  asked  her  to  ex 
cuse  it!  But  she  left  me  without  a  word,  refused 
me  admittance  when  I  went  to  her  hall,  flouted 
me  when  I  accosted  her  —  slighted  —  scorned— 
Only  the  Devil  who  made  them  knows  why  women 
do  anything!"  He  gave  the  cap  a  vicious  kick  as 
he  started  to  pace  the  floor. 

170 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

But  Helvin  added  severely:  "And  only  the  Lord 
who  made  men  knows  why  they  hanker  after  such 
creatures!  Behold  how  your  own  mouth  has  con 
victed  you  of  the  greatest  folly!" 

That  was  all,  perhaps,  that  the  song-maker  was 
able  to  behold,  even  though  his  gaze  halted  here 
and  there  upon  garments  and  weapons  as  he 
moved  restlessly  to  and  fro.  At  last  he  cried  out 
for  mercy. 

"  I  will  confess  myself  the  greatest  fool  alive 
if  it  will  save  me  from  your  tongue!  I  know  now 
what  I  have  always  suspected,  that  King  Helge 
in  the  song  wasted  his  time  in  avenging  it  on 
Fridtjof  that  he  loved  the  boneless  Ingeborg. 
That  love  alone  was  punishment  enough —  Like 
one  struck  by  a  new  thought,  he  stopped  before 
the  Jarl. 

"It  occurs  to  me,  lord,"  he  said,  "that  you  are 
not  carrying  out  your  share  of  that  song!  Here 
am  I,  a  man  of  no  more  than  free  birth — since  no 
one  gets  his  rank  from  his  mother  —  who  have 
dared  to  love  a  ruler's  daughter.  Why  do  you 
not  rage  against  it,  as  is  to  be  expected  ?  I  swear 
an  oath  that  I  would  rather  endure  your  wrath  for 
my  boldness  than  continue  this  talk  about  my 
weakness." 

"That  choice  is  less  hero-like  than  it  sounds, 
my  friend,"  Helvin  answered  gravely.  "You  do 

13  I71 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

yourself  wrong  if  you  do  not  know  that  since 
Time's  morning  a  man  whom  Odin  has  led  into 
the  high-seat  of  skaldship  has  been  held  the  equal 
of  any  blood.  And  you  do  me  wrong  to  think 
that  I  should  forget  the  nobleness  of  your  mind, 
whatever  your  rank.  Is  it  not  even  because  I  love 
you  as  the  very  eyes  in  my  head  that  I  cannot 
bear  to  see  you  bend  your  neck  to  a  pride-crazed 
woman?" 

He  took  his  foot  down  from  the  coffer  to  face 
the  song-maker  fairly. 

"Oh  my  comrade,  what  shall  I  do  to  ease  you?" 
he  said.  "Will  you  that  I  should  grapple  with 
you  and  pluck  out  the  barb,  though  your  heart- 
roots  come  with  it?  Or  are  there  any  kindly  ser 
vices  I  might  do  to  heal  the  flesh  and  let  the  thing 
remain  imbedded  and  forgotten?  Do  you  pre 
scribe  now  for  my  love, — I  swear  no  dose  shall  be 
too  bitter.  Though  that  course  be  not  so  good, 
I  would  still  go  to  her  myself  on  your  behalf,  were 
there  hope  that  she  had  a  heart  in  her  bosom  to 
answer  when  one  knocked." 

"It  is  not  that  she  has  not  a  heart,  lord.  It  is 
that  I  am  not  high  enough  to  reach  the  bolt  upon 
its  door,"  Randvar  answered  sadly.  He  wrung 
the  hand  that  had  clasped  his,  then  threw  himself 
down  upon  the  chest  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
palms.  His  words  came  disjointedly. 

172 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"Think  only  what  her  love  would  be  like,  who 
is  so  steadfast  in  her  friendship!  Had  you  seen 
her  that  day  of  the  Treaty  when  she  came  upon 
me  in  my  bonds — !  Why  do  I  rail  at  her  pride, 
when  I  would  not  have  her  bright  head  held  one 
jot  lower?  When  Mord  turned  upon  me,  I  had 
her  as  my  shield—  Lord,  when  Olaf  came  against 
me  with  his  knife,  she  closed  with  him!  Her  slim 
fingers  twined  vinelike  around  the  great  bole  of 
his  wrist.  And  one  of  her  long  braids  flew  out 
as  she  whirled  and  brushed  like  a  bird's  wing 
across  my  lips !  Likely  it  is  the  last  time  they  will 
ever  feel  it."  He  got  up  suddenly  and  resumed 
his  walking,  too  deep  in  wretchedness  to  heed  the 
quiver  of  mocking  laughter  to  which  Helvin  was 
stirred. 

"Think  only  what  her  love  of  her  brother  must 
be  like,  who  was  so  cool-witted  while  she  thought 
he  was  being  slaughtered!"  Starkad's  son  mur 
mured. 

As  swiftly  as  the  mood  came,  so  swiftly  it  passed. 
Stepping  forward,  he  began  to  move  beside  his 
friend,  speaking  indulgently : 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,  comrade, — I  foresee  now  that 
you  shall  even  kiss  her  lips  if  you  will." 

Randvar  came  to  himself  with  a  start,  and 
stopped  short  in  anger.  "  Lord,  there  are  some 
remedies  that  even  you  may  not  try  upon  me. 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

If  this  is  done  to  deride —  His  manner  changed 
as  he  met  the  gentleness  of  the  gray  eyes.  "  Bear 
with  me!  I  know  you  mean  me  only  good.  But 
I  cannot  see  your  cheer." 

"It  is  not  to  the  man  down  in  the  thick  of  the 
fight,  but  to  the  man  up  in  the  crow's-nest,  that 
it  is  given  to  see  which  way  the  battle  is  going. 
You  see  only  the  fury  of  your  foe.  I  see  that  she 
is  putting  that  fury  forward  to  hide  the  weakness 
that  lies  behind  it." 

Again  the  song-maker  checked  his  pacing,  but  this 
time  to  ask  wonderingly :  "  Lord,  what  mean  you?" 

"My  meaning  is  that  she  has  found  out  that  her 
breast  holds  love  for  you." 

"Love!" 

"What  else,  my  friend,  would  make  Brynhild 
the  Cold  forget  her  estate  and  show  openly — to 
Mord — to  Olaf  —  to  whomsoever  chose  to  look — 
the  store  she  set  by  your  safety?" 

So  lightning-bright  grew  the  radiance  in  Rand- 
var's  face  that  it  could  last  only  lightning-long, 
then  flickered  and  died  in  gloom. 

"Lord,  how  dare  I  believe  that?  It  might  have 
been  no  more  than  friendliness,  or  woman's  pity." 

Through  the  mass  of  dark  hair  from  which  he 
had  plucked  off  his  jewelled  cap,  the  Jarl  ran  his 
white  hands,  throwing  back  his  head  with  a  move 
ment  of  impatience. 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"Why  is  it  that  it  comes  so  much  easier  to  be 
lieve  in  Hel  than  in  Valhalla?  Is  it  because  the 
earth-clods  we  are  made  of  weigh  us  down  when 
we  try  to  mount?  If  I  cannot  prove  her  love  to 
you  through  her  gentleness,'  then  will  I  prove  it 
through  her  hardness.  No  ball  leaps  up  high  that 
has  not  gone  down  hard, — had  she  stooped  no 
lower  than  pity,  she  had  never  risen  so  high  as 
hate.  Now  I  can  make  a  guess  that  the  most 
surprised  person  to  whom  Brynhild  betrayed  her 
love  was  Brynhild  herself!  One  thing  I  hope,— 
that  it  was  not  this  moment  which  a  bantering 
fate  took  to  make  you  smile?" 

"What  other  time  should  it  have  been,  lord? 
It  was  not  until  the  excitement  was  over  that  I 
called  to  mind  how  she  had  boasted  that  nothing 
could  shake  her  coldness.  When  I  saw  her — sword 
in  hand — eyes  ablaze — Odin  himself  would  have 
drawn  back  his  lips!" 

"Then  would  Odin  himself  have  gone  behind 
the  clouds  for  a  while,"  Helvin  said;  and  one  of 
his  rare  smiles,  faint  as  a  glimmer  of  arctic  sun 
shine,  touched  the  curves  of  his  mouth.  "Think 
of  the  firebrand  it  hurled  into  her  pride,  when  she 
thought  that  this  love  which  she  herself  had  just 
discovered  had  been  betrayed  to  you,  and  that  you 
were  triumphing — " 

The  Songsmith  cried  out  the  word  "Triumph- 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

ing!"  with  such  bitterness  in  his  voice  that,  to 
hide  a  smile,  the  Jarl  turned  away  and  feigned  to 
be  absorbed  in  a  kirtle  on  the  wall,  nor  looked 
around  again  until  Randvar  appealed  to  him. 
Dropped  heavily  upon  the  chest,  the  Songsmith 
sat  frowning  desperately  at  the  floor. 

"  If  you,  lord,  would  but  do  one  thing  which  is 
easy  to  you?"  he  said.  "Furnish  me  with  some 
errand  that  will  bring  me  into  her  presence,  even 
against  her  will.  I  mean  so  to  act  that  it  will 
be  made  evident  to  her  that  she  misjudged  in 
fearing  I  should  become  forward." 

Again  the  Jarl  set  his  foot  upon  the  coffer  and 
his  elbow  on  his  knee,  but  the  look  he  bent  on  his 
friend  now  had  a  hint  of  amiable  amusement. 

"True  it  is  that  much  lies  on  that!  You  might 
feign  sickness  and  be  taken  into  the  guest-cham 
ber  off  the  women's  hall,  where  it  is  the  custom 
for  sick  men  to—  But  the  ill-luck  might  befall  you 
that  unless  you  seemed  balancing  on  the  grave- 
edge,  she  would  leave  you  to  her  wTomen.  Better 
would  it  be  to  make  up  some  errand  concerning 
the  dress  of  state  which  she  and  her  maids  are 
covering  with  needlework  for  my  wear —  Yet 
that  is  not  certain,  either,  for  I  have  some  fear 
that  she  might  hear  your  message  and  then  dis 
miss  you  before  you  could  get  out  your  conciliat 
ing  words." 

176 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

Some  diffidence  had  come  into  the  Songsmith's 
manner,  as  if  he  foresaw  chaff  for  what  he  was 
about  to  say.  Yet  now  he  said  it: 

"One  plan  came  to  me,  lord,  by  which  I  could 
show  without  words  that  I  had  a  desire  to  please 
her.  You  heard  how  she  spoke  of  woodsmen  ?.  .  . 
More  than  once  has  she  upbraided  me  for  wearing 
clothes  unbefitting  the  son  of  Freya,  the  king- 
born.  For  myself,  I  prefer  to  be  the  son  of  Rolf 
the  Viking,  but  for  her  sake — to  show  that  I  will 
do  all  in  my  power  to  deserve  the  honor  she  does 
me — I  would  go  so  far  as  to  change- 
He  broke  off  in  embarrassment,  for  even  as  he 
Had  feared,  the  Jarl's  whimsical  amusement  in 
creased.  Laying  hold  of  the  shoulder  before  him, 
Helvin  shook  it  banteringly. 

"  Let  us  hope  it  will  not  be  with  you  as  the 
priest's  story  says  it  was  with  Samson  and  Deli 
lah!  And  I  will  forbear  reminding  you  that  in 
casting  off  your  forest  garb  you  cast  off  my  livery, 
and  confess  that  I  no  longer  stand  first  in  your 
allegiance—  Nay,  I  said  that  I  would  forbear 
reminding  you  of  that,  so  never  stir  your  tongue 
to  protest.  Now  that  I  see  that  you  have  not 
thrown  your  dice  for  a  worthless  stake,  I  begin  to 
find  interest  in  the  game.  Call  the  trader  in  to 
set  forth  his  goods.  You  shall  go  to  her  at  once, 
while  her  heart  is  still  at  war  with  her  temper  for 

177 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

having  ill  -  treated  you.  There  is  no  good  striv 
ing  against  me!  I  say  you  shall.  Call  Asgrim— 
Nay,  if  you  will  not,  I  will  do  it  myself—  Ah, 
that  is  better!  Since  I  have  staked  my  reputation 
as  a  foretelling  man,  I  am  going  to  see  that  the 
game  is  played  properly." 


XII 


The  mind  rules  one-half  of  the  victory" 

— Northern  saying. 

JARL,  it  is  not  fitting  that  you  should 
even  seem  to  attend  on  me !  Let  me 
'accompany  you  to  your  hall  as  be 
comes  me,  and  afterwards  go  my 
,way  alone — 
"  And  rob  me  of  a  chance  to  see  the  horses  come 
up  to  the  post  in  a  race  I  have  wagered  on?"  the 
Jarl  interrupted.  "Out  upon  your  idea  of  fitness! 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  not  even  go  upon  that 
slope  behind  the  women's  house  and  watch  you 
through  a  broken  window  I  know  of.  Would  it  not 
give  you  a  sense  of  being  supported  to  feel  my  eyes 
upon  you  ?"  He  walked  on  as  one  serenely  unaware 
that  his  companion  had  stopped  short  in  dismay. 

He  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  carry  out  his  threat, 
however.  When — by  snow-banked  roads  and  snow- 
buried  lanes,  dim  in  the  early  gloaming — they  had 
come  to  the  court-yard  and  the  looming  pile  of  the 
women's  house,  Helvin  halted  in  the  shadow  of  a 
tree. 

179 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"I  think  I  will  go  no  farther,"  he  said.  "If  it 
happen  as  I  expect,  they  will  not  close  the  doors 
after  you  immediately,  as  after  one  whose  welcome 
is  certain.  I  shall  be  able  to  see  some  of  the  sport 
from  here,  before  the  banging  of  them  in  my  face 
tells  me  that  my  foretelling  has  come  true." 

"It  is  for  you  to  decide,"  Randvar  made  use  of 
the  proper  phrase.  And  he  had  made  a  stride 
forward  when  —  like  the  jerk  of  a  cord  suddenly 
stretched — an  impulse  turned  him  back. 

"Lord,"  he  said,  almost  with  fierceness,  "tell 
me  that  you  were  jesting  when  you  accused  me  of 
forsaking  my  allegiance  to  you.  Say  that  you 
do  not  hold  me  for  a  deserter,  or  my  foot  shall 
wither  before  ever  it  makes  a  move  to  leave 
you!" 

Out  of  the  shadow  in  which  he  stood,  Helvin's 
voice  sounded  presently  like  a  harp  strain  with 
one  minor  chord. 

"We  must  take  this,  comrade,  as  it  is.  It  was 
a  jest, — and  it  was  the  truth.  You  could  no  more 
hold  back  than  I  could  stay  you,  and  I  would  not 
keep  you  if  I  could.  All  that  man  can  give  to  man, 
you  have  given  me, — I  ask  not  woman's  share  be 
sides.  Go,  and  good  go  with  you  for  your  love!" 

Down  in  the  shadow,  their  hands  met  and  clasp 
ed;  then  the  song-maker  turned  and  once  more 
went  forward  towards  the  dark  mass.  After  some 

180 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

delay  the  broad  doors  opened  before  him,  and — as 
had  been  foretold — did  not  close  after  him. 

Through  the  ruddy  gap,  the  Jarl's  gaze  followed 
his  song-maker  into  a  fire-bright  hall  whose  wall- 
benches  were  aflower  with  women  in  kirtles  of  deep 
red  and  dull  yellow  and  corn-flower  blue.  Like 
green  beads  from  a  broken  necklace,  pages  were 
scattered  over  the  floor  playing  a  game  of  ball; 
and  dodging  between  them  and  stumbling  over 
them,  swarthy  thrall-men  were  bringing  in  tables 
for  the  evening  meal.  A  fancy  came  to  amuse  the 
Jarl  that  it  was  like  the  arrival  of  a  war-arrow  in 
a  peace  -  camp  when  his  messenger  stepped  into 
the  ring  of  the  firelight.  From  chess-board  and 
bead-stringing  and  gossip,  the  women  turned  with 
smothered  exclamations;  while  the  purple-robed 
girl  in  the  high-seat  sat  like  one  stricken  motion 
less,  her  hand  still  holding  out  the  silk  ball  she  was 
winding  from  the  skein  which  a  page  held  apart 
before  her. 

Splendid  in  raiment  now  was  the  son  of  Freya, 
the  king-born.  As  sun-burnished  waves  shone  his 
newly  trimmed  hair,  and  his  garments  were  all  of 
velvet  banded  with  fine  sable,  and  sable  lined  the 
cloak  that  fell  from  his  mighty  shoulders.  Re 
garding  him,  another  fancy  brought  a  smile  to  the 
Jarl. 

"  He  put  on  fine  clothes  as  a  man  puts  on  armor, 
181 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

and  like  a  flight  of  arrows  are  the  glances  shot 
against  him.  I  would  lay  down  my  life  on  it  that 
he  would  sooner  go  against  arrows." 

If  that  were  so,  still  no  one  could  tell  from  the 
song-maker's  bearing  whether  desperation  or  confi 
dence  ruled  in  his  mind.  Passing  between  the 
fires,  he  came  before  the  footstool  of  Brynhild  the 
Proud.  When  he  had  made  salute,  he  stood  wait 
ing  in  the  attitude  of  courtly  submission,  one  hand 
on  his  hilt  and  one  on  his  breast,  an  attitude  that 
took  on  new  meaning  because  proud  strength  spoke 
from  every  line  of  his  virile  face  and  his  sinewy 
body. 

Motionless,  she  sat  gazing  at  him,  whether  in 
speechless  displeasure  or  speechless  amazement, 
no  one  could  tell  from  her  expression.  Signing 
the  petrified  page  to  withdraw  out  of  ear-shot,  she 
said  at  last: 

"  This  behavior  seems  to  me  so  bold  that  I  have 
never  seen  any  act  so  bold  as  this.  What  is  your 
errand  with  me?" 

"  I  will  speak  it  aloud  and  not  mutter  about  it," 
he  answered.  "  I  have  two.  The  first,  which  I  care 
the  most  about,  is  to  reconcile  myself  to  you.  The 
other  is  a  message  from  the  Jarl,  which  I  hold  as 
a  shield  against  an  unfavorable  reception." 

She  drew  back  to  the  extreme  limit  of  her  high- 
seat,  her  face  set  like  a  cameo  against  the  dark 

182 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

wood.  The  best  she  could  do  was  to  observe  pres 
ently,  with  haughtiness: 

"To  me  it  would  seem  more  becoming  to  carry 
out  your  lord's  business  first." 

"Becoming  it  might  be,  but  more  imprudent 
than  to  lay  aside  a  shield  in  unequal  combat." 

"Unequal?"  She  managed  to  curl  her  flower- 
like  lips.  "Hear  a  wonder!  On  Treaty  Day,  you 
claimed  the  victory  over  me." 

"Said  I  that  I  got  the  victory  over  you?  Here 
now  I  do  confess  that  you  have  me  at  your  pleas 
ure.  If  you  bid  me  leave  you,  I  can  do  nothing 
against  it.  If  you  refuse  me  your  friendship,  no 
power  is  strong  enough  to  get  it  for  me;  though 
no  man  on  earth  will  lack  joy  more  than  I,  if  that 
must  be." 

One  swift  look  she  sent  round  to  make  sure  that 
no  one  else  could  hear  the  low- voiced  words,  then 
sat  tapping  the  chair  arm  with  her  jewelled  fingers, 
her  bosom  rising  and  falling  like  a  white  billow 
under  the  lace  of  her  kerchief.  Out  of  the  stormy 
deeps,  passionate  words  rose  at  last. 

"  I  do  not  wish  that  you  should  value  me  like 
that,  any  more  than  I  want  to  feel  the  way  you 
make  me  feel.  Do  you  not  know  that  your  offence 
against  me  was  heavier  even  than  Olaf's?  He 
pushed  my  hands  away,  and  recked  little  what  I 
said ;  but  you — though  you  stood  with  bound  hands 

183 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

— you  laid  hold  of  my  mind  and  moulded  it  to  your 
will !  You  made  of  me  —  of  me  —  a  screaming 
shield-maiden,  ready  to  slay  my  childhood's  friend! 
And  then  you  stood  there  and  laughed  in  your 
triumph!" 

He  said  slowly:  "True  enough  I  laughed — for 
one  breath's  space — and  that  passed  for  an  offence ; 
but  for  three  months  you  have  made  me  the  sober 
est  man  in  the  New  Lands.  Is  not  that  atone 
ment?" 

A  glance  she  flashed  to  challenge  his  sincerity, 
but  her  eyes  could  not  withstand  his  eyes'  steady 
wooing.  She  spoke  without  looking  at  him: 

"If  that  were  all!  But  you  have  done  more. 
There  is  that  which  survives  even  that  madness. 
Some  door  you  have  opened  in  my  mind  through 
which  all  my  peace  and  pride  have  gone.  Things 
I  have  never  wanted  before,  now  look  good  to  me ; 
and  all  I  have  seems  as  nothing,  and  the  heavens 
reel  around  me,  and  I  do  not  know  one  day  what  I 
am  going  to  want  the  next.  You  have  made  me  a 
thrall-woman  in  my  own  eyes,  in  proving  to  me 
that  the  passions  that  shake  such  base  creatures 
can  also  shake  me — that  I  can  fear  like  them — hate 
like  them — sin  like  them — love  like  them!  Only 
if  this  be  love,  I  tell  you  this, — that  I  will  never 
yield  to  it!  I  will  not  love  you!" 

Her  gaze  was  meeting  his  now  with  all  a  Val- 
184 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

kyria's  weapon-play.     It  was  he  who  lowered  his 
eyes,  lest  their  fire  offend  her. 

"  Why  you  should  love  me,  I  know  no  reason  at 
all,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  for  it  only  as  a  priest  hopes 
for  a  miracle.  This  alone  I  know, — that  I  love  you, 
so  that  to  waken  in  the  morning  and  look  forward 
to  the  hope  of  speaking  with  you  is  to  sit  in  a 
Greenland  winter  and  look  forward  to  the  summer. 
Will  you  not  grant  me  the  boon  I  beg  because  to 
you  it  means  so  little,  and  to  me  it  means  so  much  ?" 

"  I  will  not  say  that  it  meant  little  to  hear  your 
songs  and  your  adventures,"  she  answered  present 
ly,  with  courtesy.  Soon  after  that,  in  the  gloam 
ing  of  her  eyes  a  light  flickered  starlike.  "Any 
more  than  I  can  deny  that  Freya's  son  can  be  a 
courtman  when  he  chooses,"  she  added.  Then  her 
mouth  became  as  grave  as  it  was  gracious.  "  It 
may  be  that  if  you  will  give  me  your  promise 
never  to  talk  to  me  about — miracles — 

"  So  shall  it  be  that  I  will  take  banishment  from 
you  as  from  a  lawman,  if  once  I  break  the  agree 
ment!" 

After  a  moment  she  rose  with  queenful  compos 
ure,  stretching  out  her  hand  to  the  group  around 
the  entrance. 

"Why  do  you  allow  the  doors  to  remain  open?" 
she  called.  "  Our  guest  will  not  leave  until  he  has 
partaken  of  our  hospitality." 

185 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

With  a  crash,  the  great  doors  swung  to,  startling 
the  Jarl  where  he  stood  in  the  darkness  of  the 
court -yard.  At  first  he  smiled  whimsically,  and 
made  a  gesture  of  drinking  to  his  companion 
within.  Then,  as  he  turned  to  go  back  alone, 
the  smile  faded.  The  face  he  lifted  to  the  stars 
seemed  to  be  asking  a  bitter  question  of  the  planet 
that  had  stood  over  his  birth. 


XIII 

"  Mix  hops  with  honey  when  thou  mead  wilt  brew " 

— Northern  saying. 

TIRRING  before  the  great  awaken 
ing,  the  southern  slopes  had  thrown 
off  their  coverings  of  snow,  and 
bared  their  brown  bosoms  to  the 
ifresh  wind.  The  pools  of  the  muddy 
road  gave  back  unclouded  blue,  and  blithe  as  the 
call  of  the  robins  in  the  sunny  meadows  were  the 
voices  of  the  young  courtmen  who  had  met  .at  a 
crossing  of  the  ways.  Winter  maintained  its  hold 
only  on  the  face  of  Mord  the  Grim,  as  looking  back 
from  the  crest  of  the  hill  he  was  riding  over,  he 
saw  that  the  centre  of  the  group  was  the  Jarl's  tall 
song-maker. 

Some  of  the  young  nobles  had  set  forth  to  shoot 
ducks  from  the  broken  ice  of  the  river,  and  were 
unfolding  their  plans  to  the  forester's  sympathetic 
ear.  Some  were  seeking  ground  for  a  horse-race, 
when  the  sod  should  be  firm  enough,  and  were  de 
manding  of  the  favorite  that  he  use  his  influence 
with  the  Jarl  to  have  a  feast  given  in  honor  of  the 
I3  187 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

sport.  And  others,  who  knew  that  Rolf's  son  was 
now  on  his  way  home  to  the  Tower  to  take  part  in 
the  wedding-feast  of  his  foster-sister,  were  chaffing 
him  about  the  effect  his  fine  clothes  of  buff  leather 
would  have  upon  such  Skraellings  as  he  might  en 
counter.  The  chatter  came  to  an  end  only  when 
the  hoof-beat  of  two  horses  was  heard  on  a  road 
near  by;  and  one  youth  surmised  that  it  must  be 
the  bridegroom  and  the  priest,  whom  Randvar  was 
waiting  to  join;  and  another  stepped  out  to  look 
around  the  curve,  vowing  that  if  Bolverk's  dress 
was  too  fine  it  should  be  subdued  by  a  rain  of  mud. 
The  youth  stepped  back,  however,  with  a  shrug. 

"  Only  Brynhild's  pet  page ;  and  behind  him, 
Olaf  the  French.  Tighten  the  peace-bands  on  your 
sword,  Songsmith!" 

A  third  gave  Randvar's  ribs  a  nudge  with  his 
elbow. 

"  No  better  than  wasted  breath  is  that  warning!" 
he  laughed.  "As  though  the  Songsmith  had  any 
cause  now  to  be  jealous  of  Olaf,  Thorgrim's  son!" 
So  the  laughter  and  chaff  went  up  boisterously. 

The  Songsmith  who  had  stood  quietly  listening, 
save  for  an  occasional  word  of  comment  or  banter, 
became  yet  more  silent,  and  gave  his  entire  at 
tention  to  remedying  a  mistake  in  the  lacing  of 
one  of  his  high  Cordovan  boots. 

On  his  bent  head,  half  the  hail  of  jests  continued 
188 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

to  fall ;  and  the  other  half  flew  on  to  meet  the  boy 
just  turning  into  the  road,  fresh  as  a  sprouting 
grass  blade  in  his  green  livery. 

"  Lucky  Bolverk,  to  be  allying  himself  with  such 
splendor!" 

"Picture  the  cub  doing  the  honors  from  the 
high-seat!" 

"Are  you  going  to  give  the  bride  away,  young 
one?" 

"  Oh,  why  give  your  sister  to  an  every-day  body 
like  a  guardsman,  Eric?" 

"Nobody  less  than  the  Jarl  himself— 

"Ay,  the  Jarl,  by  all  means!  Has  it  not  been 
proved  that  jarls'  sisters  take  well  to  forest-bred 
men?"  Again  a  shout  of  laughter  went  up,  and 
the  song-maker  gravely  addressed  himself  to  the 
relacing  of  his  other  boot. 

Because  Randvar  remained  stooping,  the  page  on 
his  arrival  did  not  notice  him ;  disdainfully  he  an 
swered  the  merry  group  before  which  he  had  drawn 
rein. 

"  No  intention  have  I  to  break  through  the  brush 
to  any  wedding-feast.  My  errand  hither  is  to  tell 
the  Songsmith  that  my  mind  has  changed  about 
going, — only  I  shall  tell  him  that  it  is  because 
Brynhild  cannot  spare  me.  He  is  to  meet  Bolverk 
here  and  go  with  him;  but  they  must  get  along 
without  me.  It  is  to  be  seen  that  he  left  the  Tower 

189 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

too  late  to  outgrow  his  fondness  for  moose- hump! 
Much  better  would  you  save  your  banter  for  his 
backwoods'  ways." 

Like  the  impudent  red-breasted  bird  now  strut 
ting  on  a  stone  wall  across  the  road,  Eric  thrust 
out  his  chest  with  an  air.  Laughing  and  nudging, 
the  young  courtmen  made  a  semicircle  around 
him. 

"Oh,  a  well-bred  man  is  what  you  are,  that  is 
clear  as  day!" 

"Small  wonder  you  have  no  admiration  for  that 
lout  of  a  song-maker!" 

''  Tell  us  what  you  think  of  the  showy  clothes  he 
has  begun  to— 

''Yes,  give  us  your  opinion  of  his  habits!"  they 
chorussed. 

Still  like  the  bright-eyed  bird  on  the  wall,  Eric 
cocked  his  handsome  little  head  knowingly ;  but 
even  as  they  waited  in  laughing  expectation,  Olaf 
the  French  came  cantering  around  the  bend,  and 
Eric's  censure  gave  way  to  eulogy  as  he  turned 
and  recognized  the  new-comer. 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  man  I  have  got  admiration  for, 
and  that  is  the  one  who  comes  riding  hither!  When 
I  have  my  growth,  I  shall  be  as  near  like  him  as 
possible ;  and  I  am  going  to  France  with  him  when 
ever  he  goes  back, — am  I  not,  Olaf?" 

"  So  it  shall  be,"  Thorgrim's  son  assented  benign- 
190 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ly,  as  he  returned  with  inimitable  grace  the  rather 
careless  greetings  of  the  group. 

Importance  swelled  in  Eric's  chest  until  it  burst 
out  of  his  lips  as  ecstatically  as  the  red-breasted 
bird's  song. 

"That  will  be  the  finest  part  of  my  life!  I  shall 
wipe  this  little  town  of  cabins  off  my  mind  as  com 
pletely  as  I  have  wiped  off  that  old  Tower, — and 
that  is  as  much  gone  from  remembrance  as  though 
it  had  never  been.  Do  you  know,  masters,  it  looks 
to  me  sometimes  as  though  I  could  never  have 
been  born  there?  What  seems  likeliest  is  that 
some  great  chief  of  Norumbega  had  one  child  too 
many,  so  that  he  gave  it  to  thralls  to  carry  into 
the  forest ;  and  then  Erna  came  along  and  found  it 
and  called  it  hers,  so  much  nobler  is  my  nature 
than  my  moth—  He  left  the  word  unfinished  as 
his  rapt  gaze  came  down  for  the  first  time  to  the 
Songsmith,  where  he  had  risen  and  stood  beside 
Gunnar  the  Merry.  "  By  that  I  do  not  mean  that 
she  is  not  a  worthy  woman,"  he  added  hastily. 

His  foster-brother  answered  not  a  word.  Step 
ping  to  the  head  of  Eric's  horse,  he  said  briefly: 

"Get  down." 

It  did  not  appear  that  the  page  liked  the  tone 
overmuch,  but  neither  did  he  seem  willing  to  trifle 
with  it.  He  made  a  parade  of  stretching  in  his 
saddle. 

191 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"  You  need  not  say  it  as  though  I  meant  to  keep 
on,"  he  retorted.  "  I  have  been  waiting  until  you 
came,  as  every  one  here  knows,  to  get  down  and 
talk  to  you."  Slowly  he  dismounted,  taking  great 
pains  to  keep  his  bright  spurs  out  of  the  puddles. 

"Give  me  now  that  chain  off  your  neck,  as  a 
gift  for  your  sister." 

The  page  muttered  something  about  meaning 
to  give  her  a  better  gift,  when  he  should  have  had 
time  to  visit  the  trading-booth;  but  his  foster- 
brother's  hand  remained  before  him,  immovable  as 
a  stone  cup.  He  dropped  the  chain  into  it  at  last, 
and  watched  ruefully  the  stowing  away  of  the 
trinket  in  the  pouch  of  buff  leather.  Then  the 
owner  of  the  pouch  made  another  demand : 

"Now  give  me  a  message  to  go  with  it.  Say, 
'  I  send  therewith  my  hearty  greeting. ' ' 

At  that,  Eric  so  far  forgot  his  finery  as  to  stamp 
and  spatter  it  with  mud.  But  after  a  second  look 
from  under  the  heavy  brows,  he  said  the  words, 
rebelling  only  when  the  circle  of  grinning  courtmen 
sent  up  a  roar  of  laughter  at  the  contrast  between 
the  sentiment  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered. 

"  In  meddling  in  private  affairs  you  show  bad 
manners,"  he  told  them,  and  sent  Rolf's  son  a 
glance  that  was  half  sulky,  half  coaxing.  "Nor 
do  I  think  you  have  any  right  to  scold  me  after  I 
have  made  atonement." 

192 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Far  from  scolding,  his  foster-brother  turned 
to  one  of  the  courtmen  who  had  come  from  a 
horse-fight  and  borrowed  his  riding-rod  of  twisted 
leather. 

"  You  have  made  atonement  for  slighting  Snow- 
frid,"  he  said,  "but  for  the  way  you  behaved  about 
Erna,  you  cannot  redeem  yourself  from  stripes. 
Pluck  off  your  kirtle  and  stand  forth." 

"Foster-brother!  If  you  will  listen  while  I  ex 
plain— 

"  Already  you  have  talked  enough.  Stand  forth." 

"Foster-brother—" 

"  In  a  word,  you  will  take  it  or  run." 

"That  is  a  good  hint,  young  one,"  laughed  Gun- 
nar  the  Merry.  "Pick  up  your  heels."  Then  he 
laughed  again  at  the  glare  that  Eric  turned  on 
him. 

"  Will  you  keep  your  nose  out  of  this  ?"  the  small 
Viking  demanded.  "If  you  think  I  am  afraid  to 
bear  a  flogging — !" 

The  end  of  the  sentence  was  that  his  gay  tunic 
lay  on  the  ground  and  he  stood  forth  in  his  shirt 
of  fine  linen,  his  arms  locked  upon  his  sturdy 
chest.  From  that  attitude  he  did  not  flinch  when 
the  lashes  fell,  though  they  were  neither  light  nor 
few.  When  it  was  over,  the  young  men  gave  him 
good-humored  applause. 

Gratification  pulled  at  his  mouth-corners  as  he 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

looked  at  them  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye;  but 
enough  vanity  had  been  taken  out  of  him  so  that 
when  his  gaze  passed  on  to  his  stern  foster-kins 
man,  he  showed  only  as  a  shamefaced  little  boy, 
now  humbly  desirous  of  being  restored  to  favor. 

"  If  you  think  it  will  give  my  kinswomen  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure,  I  will  go  to  the  feast  with  you," 
he  offered,  when  he  was  clothed  again  and  lingered 
shaping  mud-balls  with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 

"  If  I  have  my  way,  you  will  not  be  allowed  to 
go  back  until  it  will  give  you  so  much  pleasure 
that  you  cannot  stay  away,"  the  Songsmith  re 
turned  severely,  rejecting  utterly  the  blandish 
ments  of  the  rosy  coaxing  face.  The  culprit  gave 
up  the  attempt,  after  a  while.  Climbing  into  his 
saddle  he  rode  back  up  the  highway — his  sleeve 
in  suspicious  proximity  to  his  eyes — and  vanished 
into  a  brush- walled  lane. 

Watching  the  dejected  withdrawal  seemed  to 
suggest  to  Olaf  the  French  a  welcome  thought.  He 
moved  his  horse  a  step  forward,  and  broke  in  upon 
the  scattered  chatter. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "if  you,  Rolf's  son,  choose  to 
attack  a  young  friend  of  mine,  and  I  choose  to 
avenge  the  boy  on  you,  that  should  be  sufficient 
to  excuse  me  in  challenging  you?" 

Over  his  shoulder,  Randvar  looked  at  him  with 
his  short  laugh, — he  had  stepped  aside  to  whistle 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

back  his  horse  from  the  meadow  in  which  it  had 
strayed  to  browse. 

"Surely!  If  you,  Thorgrim's  son,  believe  that 
you  could  get  that  excuse  accepted, — in  case  you 
were  alive  to  offer  it!"  he  consented. 

But  three  of  the  young  courtmen  spoke  in  the 
same  breath:  "  Far  from  it,  Olaf !  Unless  you  were 
the  boy's  master." 

Rolf's  son  said  nothing,  only  stood  waiting  with 
his  bridle  in  his  hand. 

But  gradually  Olaf  settled  back  in  his  saddle, 
and  sat  thoughtfully  stroking  his  short  mustaches. 
"  111  might  it  be,  then,  since  I  lack  a  lawful  claim. 
I  should  kill  you,  and  then  if  I  could  not  save 
myself  from  outlawry,  I  should  get  no  good  from 
your  death." 

"This  I  take  the  ring-oath  on,  that  I  would  do 
my  best  to  keep  you  from  being  put  in  that  unsat 
isfying  position,"  Ranclvar  retorted. 

It  seemed  to  Gunnar  the  Merry  that  the  conver 
sation  had  gone  as  far  as  was  advisable;  and  he 
said  so,  good-naturedly,  several  others  seconding 
him.  And  while  they  debated,  their  cause  drew 
strength  from  another  source. 

Standing  farthest  out  in  the  road,  where  he  could 
see  around  the  curve,  a  youth  named  Aslak  called 
out  that  the  bridegroom  and  the  priest  were  com 
ing  at  last.  With  that  announcement,  all  serious- 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ness  was  put  to  rout ;  it  was  not  even  noticed  that 
on  a  sudden  impulse,  Thorgrim's  son  wheeled  and 
galloped  back  up  the  highway  and  disappeared 
into  the  lane  whose  bush-whiskered  mouth  had  al 
ready  swallowed  up  the  crestfallen  page. 

Around  the  bend  bowled  the  wedding  party,  the 
gorgeous  bridegroom  explaining  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs  how  mistakes  in  the  coming  home  of  his 
marriage  clothes  had  detained  him.  At  sight  of 
him,  such  cheers  and  chaff  arose  that  he  shouted 
himself  hoarse  with  trying  to  repay  a  quarter  of 
it,  gave  it  up  finally  and  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
fled,  followed  by  the  ruddy-cheeked  priest,  cursing 
genially  at  the  unwonted  jolting  of  his  fat  sides. 
After  them  galloped  the  laughing  song-maker,  di 
viding  his  gibes  between  the  group  behind  and  the 
pair  before. 

What  could  have  suited  his  wild  blood  better 
than  to  wander  through  the  wonder  -  world  of 
awakening  forest  ?  What  could  taste  sweeter  than 
a  wedding-feast  to  a  man  who  was  watching  his 
own  hope  grow  with  every  day  of  spring  shine  and 
spring  storm  ? 


XIV 

"More  than  all  winter  can  one  spring  day  yield" 

— Northern  saying. 

'HE  third  month  of  spring  was  come 
upon  the  year  when  the  Songsmith 
rode  back  through  the  forest  from 
his  visit  at  Freya's  Tower;  and  the 
spirit  of  spring  was  come  upon  him, 
so  that  his  blood  worked  in  his  veins  like  sap  in 
a  tree. 

Sometimes  the  billowy  clouds  above  him  parted 
over  tender  blue,  and  let  through  bursts  of  radiant 
sunshine  that  tiled  his  path  with  gold  and  golden- 
lighted  the  dim  aisle  stretching  out  before  him. 
Sometimes  they  drew  together  in  a  lowering  mass 
of  gray,  and  let  fall  snow-flakes  to  lie  daisy-like 
upon  the  patches  of  springing  green.  Sometimes 
it  was  bright  streaks  of  rain  that  fell,  meeting  his 
cheek  like  so  many  soft  mouths,  changing  with  the 
returning  sun  into  laughing  eyes  winking  from 
every  leaf.  Whatever  came,  he  took  as  joyously 
as  the  teeming  earth. 

The  thrill  that  the  earth  must  have  known  when 
197 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

it  looked  up  at  the  first  rainbow,  the  Songsmith 
knew  when  he  came  at  last  to  the  cross-roads  and, 
through  a  bushy  lattice,  glimpsed  bright  -  colored 
mantles  and  divined  that  Brynhild  had  ridden  out 
to  meet  him. 

Feigning  that  she  had  checked  her  horse  only 
to  give  her  pages  more  time  to  search  the  sodden 
thickets  for  flowers,  she  was  lingering  between  the 
budding  walls  of  the  lane,  herself  very  like  a  spring 
flower  in  .her  wrappings  of  leaf -green.  When  the 
horseman  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  lane,  her 
first  impulse  was  plainly  to  wheel  and  ride  away 
from  him;  her  second,  to  draw  her  queenful  self 
erect  and  flash  such  lightnings  from  her  eyes'  gray 
sky  as  should  strike  dead  any  presumptuous 
thought. 

But  he  had  no  need  to  tame  his  joy  for  it  had 
mounted  to  that  height  where  it  was  changed  into 
a  delicious  terror.  Almost  was  it  beyond  his 
power  to  salute  her,  to  answer  becomingly  the 
merry  welcome  of  her  women.  When  at  last  he 
had  reached  her  side  and  dismounted  to  receive  her 
greeting,  the  touch  of  her  white  hand  lighting  bird- 
like  on  his  brown  one  made  his  fingers  tremble  so 
that  she  could  not  fail  to  mark  it. 

A  moment  it  seemed  as  though  the  blissful  panic 
would  even  fall  on  her,  so  speechless  she  sat  before 
him,  the  wild-rose  color  blowing  in  her  cheeks. 

198 


Randvar   the  Songsir^ith 

But  even  at  the  first  hint  of  a  surprised  pause  in 
the  women's  chatter,  she  recovered  herself,  and 
spoke  with  gracious  composure. 

"The  weeks  have  seemed  long  without  your 
songs,  my  friend.  They  say  my  brother  has  begun 
to  suffer  in  his  temper  through  missing  you  and 
them.  Tell  us  if  you  gained  enough  pleasure  by 
the  visit  to  make  up  his  loss ;  and  tell  us  about  the 
bride,  and  how  her  mother  likes  her  strapping  new 
son." 

She  said  "us,"  but  after  a  little  space  of  polite 
pretence  it  became  doubtful  how  much  interest 
her  maidens  had  in  the  telling.  As  if  enamoured 
of  the  song-maker's  sleek  black  horse,  they  gath 
ered  around  it  to  caress  its  arching  neck  while 
they  listened.  From  that,  they  drew  off  to  the  side 
of  the  path  to  pluck  up  young  grass  spears  for  its 
refreshment;  then  still  farther  off  to  the  hedge  of 
lilac  bushes,  gemmed  with  long  green  buds.  The 
time  came  at  last  when  all  who  had  not  slipped 
through  the  hedge  had  vanished  around  it,  into 
the  road,  whence  the  murmur  of  their  voices  came 
back  sweetly,  blending  softly  with  the  tinkle  of  a 
brook  flowing  somewhere  through  the  thicket. 

It  did  not  appear  that  their  mistress  knew 
whether  they  stayed  or  went,  save  that  she  seemed 
to  feel  more  freedom  now  in  allowing  her  eyes  to 
follow  their  inclination  to  droop  and  rest  on  the 

199 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

trailing  sprays  of  fragrant  buds  with  which  the 
pages  had  filled  her  lap.  Her  lover  neither  knew 
nor  cared.  He  rambled  on  without  even  knowing 
what  he  was  saying,  -more  than  that  it  was  some 
thing  which  held  her  listening  while  his  eyes  drank 
their  fill  of  her  exquisite  face.  He  would  have 
stood  there  gazing  at  her  in  silence,  when  he  had 
finished  telling  of  the  feast,  if  she  had  not  roused 
herself  hastily  to  end  the  pause. 

"It  has  the  sound  of  a  song  come  true,"  she 
said.  "  I  wish  I  had  better  tidings  to  give  in  re 
turn  than  this  which  you  will  think  bad,  that  your 
little  foster-brother  has  deserted  my  service  for 
Olaf's,  Thorgrim's  son." 

"For  Olaf's!"  he  repeated  in  surprise.  "What 
possessed  the  cub?" 

"It  surprised  me  also,"  she  assented,  "for  since 
he  came  to  me,  we  have  never  been  apart  either  in 
word  or  deed.  Yet  Olaf  looks  grand  in  his  eyes, 
and  lavishes  on  him  a  great  store  of  gifts  and 
privileges.  I  am  afraid  he  will  get  spoiled  by  it." 

His  straight  brows  joining,  the  Songsmith  gazed 
before  him  reflectively. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  would  have  been  better  had  I 
taken  him  with  me?"  he  mused.  "Yet  would  it 
have  been  to  Erna  a  lasting  sorrow  to  see  the 
change  in  him.  .  .  .  And  it  would  have  made  him 
set  greater  store  by  himself  to  see  their  mean 

200 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

clothes.  ..."  His  musing  branched  unconsciously. 
"It  is  a  poor  place,  the  Tower,  yet  I  would  not 
trade  it  for  the  Jarl's  house  to  be  born  in." 

"Tell  me  how  it  appeared  to  you  now?"  she 
asked  him,  smiling.  "The  Tower  that  let  the  wind 
blow  in  all  the  year  around !  Did  it  stir  your  wild 
blood  so  that  it  became  a  hardship  for  you  to 
come  back  to  walls?" 

It  seemed  that  she  saw  the  danger  of  such  a 
question  as  soon  as  she  had  given  it  voice,  for  she 
half  put  out  her  hand  to  snatch  it  back.  But  he 
read  the  meaning  of  the  gesture  and  obeyed  it. 

"  It  was  no  hardship  to  come  back,  Jarl's  sister. 
.  .  .  Yet  the  place  had  never  seemed  to  me  so  fair. 
When  I  came  home  to  it,  that  day  after  it  had 
happened  to  me  to  meet  you  in  the  forest,  I  saw 
only  its  bareness  and  its  poverty.  Now  it  was 
as  a  song,  every  stone  a  word  to  tell  of  my  father's 
love.  I  never  knew  a  greater  love  among  all 
men  upon  earth.  Night  after  night,  while  the 
others  slept,  I  walked  before  the  gray  pile  and  read 
its  runes.  Great  bowlders  are  there  that  must  have 
challenged  his  strength  to  wrest  from  their  beds 
in  the  earth,  which  yet  he  wrestled  with  rejoic 
ingly,  s*ince  even  so  ingloriously  he  was  conquering 
something  for  his  beloved  one.  The  fragments  over 
the  archways—  Could  you  but  see,  Jarl's  sister, 
the  patient  labor  of  their  fitting!  Never  monk 

2OI 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

toiled  more  devoutly  with  his  brush!  Night  after 
night,  it  was  as  though  Rolf  walked  beside  me 
pouring  out  his  mind,  so  could  I  enter  into  his 
joy  that  knew  his  love  returned.  Knowing  that, 
what  was  it  to  fight  Hildebrand  and  twenty- 
forty — horsemen!  Here  I,  his  son,  may  not  even 
end  where  he  began.  I— 

He  broke  off  because  her  hand  had  risen  to  for 
bid  him,  and  stood  awhile  with  head  bent  and 
turned  aside,  his  breath  coming  fast.  But  she 
did  not  call  her  women  as  he  had  feared;  he  had 
time  to  master  himself  and  begin  again. 

"The  stones  Rolf  placed  were  the. words  of  the 
song;  the  memory  of  my  mother  was  the  music. 
When  I  said  the  Tower  was  poverty  stricken,  I 
was  blind.  More  rich  than  an  altar-shrine  I  think 
it,  now  that  I  know  what  a  woman's  love  may 
mean.  Jarl's  sister,  you  could  not  even  dream 
such  visions  as  my  memory  gave  me  to  see  in 
the  moonlight  there!  .  .  .  Visions  of  my  king-born 
mother  watering  linen  on  the  grass  before  the 
Tower  .  .  .  bringing  drink  to  Rolf  as  he  rested  from 
his  labor  .  .  .  standing  waiting  to  bear  back  the 
cup  when  he  should  have  finished,  the  leaf-shad 
ows  playing  on  the  soft  masses  of  her  hair.  .  .  . 
Waiting  before  him,  Freya,  the  king-born!  As  I 
live,  it  looks  to  me  now  as  if  it  must  have  been  a 
dream!  Here,  I  cannot  myself  believe  it." 

202 


Pandvar  the  Songsmith 

"I  can,"  the  Jarl's  sister  said  dreamily,  then 
started  awake  as  she  saw  passion  flame  up  in  his 
face  past  any  checking.  As  a  straw,  it  burned 
away  the  barrier  she  sought  to  raise. 

"Brynhild!  If  you  had  aught  to  give  me,  it 
cannot  be  that  you  would  hold  it  back!  I  will 
await  your  pleasure.  I  will  wrestle  with  the 
roughness  in  me  even  as  Rolf  wrestled  with  the 
bowlders,  till  I  have  made  my  mind  a  place  more 
worthy  of  your  dwelling.  But  even  as  Freya 
cheered  with  her  love  the  man  who  loved  her, 
give  me  some  token  that  in  time  your  pride  will 
yield!  Some  sign!" 

"What  would  you?"  she  murmured.  "My 
hands—" 

He  seized  them  both,  crushed  them  against  his 
lips.  But  he  stayed  not  at  the  arm's-length  she 
would  have  kept  him.  Holding  her  hands,  he 
leaned  nearer;  and  the  mystic  might  of  spring 
throbbing  in  his  veins  purpled  his  eyes  and  held 
her  like  a  spell. 

"Your  mouth!"  he  prayed.  "Olaf — Gunnar— 
fifty  others — have  had  your  hands.  Your  mouth!" 

He  knew  not  that  he  drew  her  towards  him; 
doubtless  she  knew  not  that  she  yielded.  Only, 
each  knew  that  her  lips  were  there  before  his,  and 
he  had  gathered  their  perfect  flower. 

203 


XV 


"Bare  is  back  without  brother  behind  it" 

— Northern  saying. 

HE  waning  light  falling  into  the  Jarl's 
bedchamber  from  its  one  small  win 
dow  under  the  eaves  disclosed  dim 
ly  the  figures  of  the  priest  and  the 
counsellor  and  the  courtman,  as  they 
waited  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  but  showed  lit 
tle  more  than  the  mass  of  the  high  curtained  bed 
that  stood  under  the  window  against  the  wall. 
The  old  advice-giver,  declaiming  before  it,  had  the 
feeling  that  he  was  talking  into  space,  even  while 
he  knew  that  somewhere  in  the  gloom  beneath  the 
hangings  the  young  ruler  must  lounge  listening 
to  him. 

"  Whether  you  take  it  well  or  not,  you  shall  not 
keep  on  in  a  false  step  for  want  of  my  foresight. 
Long  ago  I  told  you  that  the  son  of  Freya,  the 
king-born,  was  trying  to  get  friends  behind  him. 
Now  I  tell  you  that  he  has  got  them.  Courtmen 
tag  at  his  heels.  Traders  and  guardsmen  clink 
horns  at  the  sound  of  his  name;  while  the  saying 

204 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

runs  that  hunters  show  fight  if  they  think  that  so 
much  as  his  cloak-hem  has  been  trod  on.  In  a 
year  more,  he  will  have  wormed  his  way  into  the 
high-seat.  I  foretell  it." 

Mord's  voice  rose  to  a  wrathful  climax;  and  the 
gesture  of  his  knotted  hands,  when  it  looked  as 
though  the  silence  of  the  bed  was  going  to  con 
tinue  unmoved,  suggested  that  he  would  like  to 
use  them  on  the  sullen  shoulders. 

But  the  Jarl's  voice  sounded  presently  in  meas 
ured  accents:  "Has  it  come  to  your  ears  that  men 
are  speaking  against  my  rule?" 

Slightly  appeased,  Mord's  hands  relaxed  to 
smooth  his  beard.  "I  do  not  mean  that,  Star- 
kad's  son.  You  mistake  me  if  you  think  I  mean 
that  the  fellow  has  yet  power  enough  to  get  you 
disliked.  Well  spoken  of  over  all  the  land  is  your 
rule.  Only- 
Measured  and  relentless  as  the  boom  of  surf, 
the  Jarl's  voice  sounded  through  his.  "When  it 
happens  that  they  do  find  fault,  come  and  tell  me 
of  it ;  and  I  will  listen  patiently.  Only  about  aught 
which  belongs  to  my  life  as  a  free  man — 

A  moment  it  seemed  as  though  his  control 
weakened,  as  if  measure  might  be  lost  in  fury ;  but 
he  recovered  himself  and  beat  it  out  slowly  to  the 
end. 

"Witness,  priest!  and  Olaf  as  well!     I  know  how 
205 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

well-beloved  the  Songsmith  is;  and  I  know  also 
how  little  loved  I  am.  Plain  as  you,  I  see  how 
proud  my  sister  is ;  nor  do  I  forget  that  she  is  my 
heir.  Yet  I  have  given  leave  to  the  son  of  Freya, 
the  king-born,  to  woo  and  wed  her  and  join  his 
power  to  her  ambition.  Judge  from  that  how  I 
trust  him,  and  take  other  counsel  than  to  slander 
him  to  my  ears  again." 

Deeper  than  ever  seemed  the  stillness  when  he 
had  ceased.  All  that  stirred  it  was  the  grating 
of  iron  hinges,  as  Mord  jerked  open  the  door  which 
led  from  the  alcove  -  chamber  out  into  the  great 
living-room  of  the  body-guard. 

The  action  let  in  a  rush  of  ruddy  firelight  that 
illumined  the  counsellor's  bent  figure  from  head 
to  foot,  made  a  leap  at  the  silver  rosary  of  the 
black-robed  priest  behind  him,  a  snatch  at  the 
shining  lute  in  the  hand  of  Olaf  the  French,  and 
came  to  a  halt  only  at  the  edge  of  the  curtained 
bed.  Gradually,  amid  tumbled  cushions  and 
blankets  of  fur,  Kelvin's  brooding  recumbent  fig 
ure  became  visible.  Frowning  at  it,  Mord  paused. 

"So,  I  suppose,  it  must  be;  but  never  yet  have 
I  thought  your  behavior  more  untoward.  I  think 
now  that  it  would  have  been  good  counsel  if  Star- 
kad  had  given  you  a  voice  in  things  here,  so  that 
you  might  have  found  out  the  danger  in  it." 

As  one  expecting  an  explosion,  the  priest  in- 
206 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

voluntarily  shrank  into  himself;  but  what  came 
instead  was  a  sly  chuckle. 

"  It  has  crossed  my  thoughts  also  that  Starkad 
might  have  managed  some  things  better,"  Kelvin's 
voice  drawled.  "  I  wonder  how  it  looks  to  the  old 
troll  himself  now." 

The  advice-giver  turned  on  the  threshold  to  say 
with  sternness:  "Young  lord,  is  it  in  that  manner 
you  speak  of  the  honored  dead?" 

For  all  answer,  there  came  from  the  bed  a  peal 
of  mocking  laughter. 

Like  one  who  dares  trust  himself  no  longer, 
Mord  made  a  swift  stride  through  the  door  and 
away ;  and  the  Shepherd  Priest  spoke  soothingly : 

"Most  dear  lord!" 

It  could  be  seen  that  the  Jarl  lowered  one  of  the 
fists  propping  his  chin  and  turned  and  looked  at 
him.  He  said  presently,  with  ominous  slowness : 

"Are  you  going  to  take  the  text  now,  priest, 
and  edify  me  with  exhortations  about  honoring 
the  dead?  If  so,  pray  begin  by  explaining  why  a 
man  should  be  honored  only  because  he  changes 
from  serving  the  Devil  on  earth  to  serving  him 
in—" 

The  priest  lifted  a  gentle  hand.  Brawny  shep 
herd's  hand  though  it  was,  it  had  no  lack  of  dig 
nity. 

"My  lord  and  son,  turn  not  your  good  gift  of 
207 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

speech  to  your  own  ill.  I  would  in  no  way  vex 
you.  That  you  were  sorely  tried  under  Starkad's 
rule  was  before  all  eyes.  How  should  I  who  have 
not  felt  the  burden  chide  you  that  your  back  is 
weary  ?  Only  I  would  beseech  of  you  that  fair 
ness  towards  him  which  we  show  to  you,  when  in 
your  less  worthy  turns  of  mind  we  still  remember 
how  noble  is  your  nature.  Old  sayings  have  it  that 
men  are  wolves  and  bears  in  their  Other  Shapes, — 
it  is  but  a  turn  of  the  cloak  to  hold  with  the  Christ- 
faith  that  the  blackest-hearted  man  has  a  better 
self  within  him.  Believe  of  your  father  that  he  had 
a  gentler  spirit  somewhere  hid,  that  his  life  bound 
him  as  yours  binds  you.  Believe,  and  pardon." 

From  resting  on  his  elbow,  Starkad's  son  started 
passionately  upright. 

"Pardon, — and  give  up  my  hate  that  is  as  meat 
to  my  teeth!  Priest,  are  you  Northern  born  and 
know  not  that  such  satisfaction  comes  from  hating 
a  foe  as  makes  the  joy  of  loving  a  friend  look  like 
pale  moonshine  by  red  fire  ?  My  foe  was  what  he 
was — doubly  my  foe  in  that  he  owed  me  help — 
and  blow  shall  go  for  blow  between  us.  Pardon 
that  I  may  be  pardoned?  Rather  than  forgive 
him  one  jot  of  his  punishment  would  I  share  his 
torture  and  count  it  gain!  Rather  would  I  burn 
by  his  side  until  that  spirit  which  cannot  be  sub 
dued  by  Norway's  rocks  or  Greenland's  snow- 

208 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

wastes  or  Iceland's  belching  mountains  has  burned 
out  of  both  of  us,  and  left  no  more  than  two  dead 
cinders!  Nor  will  I  bear  rebuke!" 

"Nay,  how  should  I  do  aught  else  than  sorrow 
for  you  who  choose  for  yourself  so  hard  a  way?" 
the  old  priest  said  sadly.  "Methinks  my  heart 
would  break  over  you  if  I  did  not  know  that  even 
at  the  goal  of  that  road,  at  the  end  of  that  torture, 
One  will  stand  waiting  for  you  beside  whose  love 
mine  is  but  a  taper  to  a  star.  His  mercy  be  upon 
you  and  save  you  from  yourself!" 

As  a  star  through  the  night,  shone  his  soul 
through  his  swarthy  face ;  but  Starkad's  son  avert 
ed  his  eyes  that  he  might  not  see  it. 

"  Everything  bides  its  time.  When  I  feel  desire 
for  that  goal,  it  may  be  that  I  shall  believe  in  it. 
You  are  an  honest  man, — do  what  you  can  among 
my  people.  For  my  malady,  your  medicine  is  too 
mild." 

With  a  hand  raised  in  dismissal,  he  met  the  hand 
raised  in  benediction  and  flung  himself  back  on  his 
cushions,  speaking  curtly  to  Olaf ,  Thorgrim's  son. 

"  Do  you  sing,  until  I  decide  whether  your 
jingling  or  my  humor  makes  the  worst  discord  in 
my  ears." 

As  a  man  wakened  out  of  deep  abstraction,  the 
courtman  came  to  himself  with  a  start.  Though 
he  sought  to  cover  it  with  his  graceful  bow,  and 

209 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

set  his  shapely  fingers  instantly  to  their  task  on 
the  lute  -  strings,  his  customary  tactfulness  was 
lacking.  In  the  middle  of  the  first  verse  of  his 
ballad,  the  Jarl's  hand — that  had  come  out  into 
the  firelight  and  begun  to  pick  and  tear  at  the 
gold  -  embroidered  flowers  of  the  bed  -  hangings — 
flew  up  irritably. 

"What  the  devil!  Have  you  nothing  but  tink 
ling  love-tunes  in  stock  ?  Do  they  rear  their  men 
in  the  women's  house  in  France?  Some  song  of 
might — fire — you  milksop!" 

Murmuring  apologies,  Olaf  tried  plainly  to  re 
gain  his  wonted  poise ;  but  before  he  had  got  out 
so  much  as  the  first  couplet  of  the  battle-song  he 
had  struck  into,  the  hand  had  leaped  from  the  em 
broidery,  snatched  his  instrument  from  his  hold 
and  dashed  it  against  the  opposite  wall. 

"Fool!  I  have  warned  you  that  battle  -  songs 
are  my  love-songs,"  Kelvin's  voice  rose  in  thunder. 
"To  sing  them  to  me  when  I  am  doomed  to  in 
action  is  to  heat  the  fever  in  my  veins  to  madness! 
Oh,  where  in  the  Troll's  name  is  the  Songsmith? 
The  three  weeks  leave  I  gave  him  was  up  when 
the  candle  of  the  sun  marked  noon  to-day;  and 
here  the  sun  is  burned  out,  and  he  has  not  come. 
What  can  he  mean  by  it?" 

Olaf  laughed,  neither  mirthfully  nor  yet  perfunc 
torily,  but  with  the  frank  discordance  of  his  mind. 

210 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"  Lord,  who  shall  take  it  on  him  to  say  what 
any  one  means  at  this  court  ?  If  it  were  in  France, 
now,  I  could  interpret  your  relations  well  enough; 
but  here — here  you  go  not  by  any  rules  I  know.  I 
give  up  the  riddle."  With  a  gesture  of  less  than 
usual  grace  and  more  than  usual  feeling,  he  went 
over  to  pick  up  his  lute. 

But  Helvin  spoke  with  unusual  softness  from  the 
darkness  of  the  bed-curtains:  "How  would  you 
interpret  our  relations  if  you  were  in  France, 

beausire?" 

» 

"Nay,  noble  one,  it  has  no  meaning  here,"Thor- 
grim's  son  answered  almost  impatiently,  "here 
where  no  house  reaches  underground,  and  wom 
en  count  for  naught.  There,  men  would  say  that 
the  fellow  had  some  secret  of  yours  in  his  power 
and  you  took  insolence  from  him  because  you 
feared  to  resent  it." 

That  he  was  aiming  a  shaft  is  unlikely  for  he 
did  not  look  up  to  see  if  the  shot  told,  but  went 
on  examining  the  broken  strings,  his  mouth  work 
ing  like  that  of  a  man  who  is  trying  also  to  mend 
a  rift  in  his  damaged  composure.  It  was  not 
until  the  stillness  behind  the  curtains  had  lasted 
so  long  as  to  become  ominous  that  he  started  as 
though  struck  by  a  possibility,  lowered  the  lute 
slowly,  and  slowly  turned  his  gaze  towards  the  re 
cumbent  figure. 

211 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

Even  the  restless  hand  had  been  drawn  in  from 
the  light  now ;  crouching  as  for  a  spring,  Starkad's 
son  loomed  in  the  dimness.  Like  vultures  hover 
ing  over  their  prey,  Olaf's  eyes  settled  on  him, 
tearing  their  way  in  as  though  they  would  reach 
the  inmost  places  of  his  heart. 

So  they  faced  each  other  until  they  were  startled 
by  an  outburst  of  jovial  voices  in  the  guard-room 
without,  shouting  the  name  of  Rolf's  son  with 
words  of  noisy  welcome. 

Straightening,  then,  Olaf  made  a  salute  of  stud 
ied  mockery. 

"Lord,"  he  said,  "I  will  give  place  to  your — 
confidant." 

The  Jarl  stretched  out  an  arm  grown  strangely 
unsteady,  and  spoke  in  a  voice  become  strangely 
breathless.  "Wait!  You  think  that  I  am  afraid 
to  make  him  smart  for  an  offence?  Wait  a  little." 

Surprise  took  some  of  the  assurance  from  Olaf's 
bearing,  as  he  resumed  his  place  at  the  bed-foot; 
then,  in  expectant  malice,  he  folded  his  arms  and 
leaned  against  the  carven  post  to  watch  through 
the  open  door  the  song-maker's  buoyant  approach. 

Delayed  by  the  questions  rained  on  him,  by 
the  hands  thrust  out  to  clasp  his,  Randvar  was 
long  in  making  his  passage  through  the  hall;  but 
the  alcove  doorway  framed  him  at  last,  a  vision 
of  light  and  of  life  as  the  fire-glow  touched  his 

212 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

burnished  hair  and  the  new  happiness  in  him  rang 
in  his  voice  of  greeting. 

The  Jarl's  grim  tone  sounded  doubly  grim  by 
contrast.  "  However  wroth  I  was  before,  now  I  am 
half  as  wroth  again.  What  befits  you,  lazy-goer,  is 
humblest  explanation . ' ' 

Accustoming  his  light-filled  eyes  to  the  gloom, 
the  Songsmith  had  lingered  on  the  threshold;  now 
as  he  was  about  to  advance  he  stopped  once  more, 
attuning  his  harmony-filled  ears  to  this  discord. 

"Lord!"  he  said  in  amazement.  "Lord,  what 
should  I  explain?"  then,  incredulously,  "This  can 
not  be  because  I  am  a  half -day  late!  No  stress 
was  laid  upon  the  time — no  need  of  haste—  He 
broke  off  as  his  clearer  vision  separated  Olaf's 
blue-and-gold  figure  from  the  blue-and-gold  cur 
tains.  "You  here!  Now  is  it  likely  that  any  ly 
ing  tale  of  yours  could  have  worked  this—  Yet 
it  is  not  possible,  lord,  that  you  would  have  listened 
to  him!  That—" 

Again  he  broke  off;  but  this  time  with  a  smoth 
ered  cry  as,  turning,  he  beheld  the  face  that  Helvin 
thrust  into  the  light.  Gnawed  and  blood-streaked 
lips,  it  showed ;  while  bright  as  the  ruddy  light  in 
the  dusky  room  flickered  devil-fire  in  the  murky 
eyes.  They  turned  to  keep  watch  of  Thorgrim's 
son,  even  while  the  tongue  belonging  to  them  ad 
dressed  the  song-maker. 

213 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"  Is  it  not  possible,  boor  that  you  are,  that  you 
could  have  leaned  too  heavily  on  my  favor?  Olaf 
says  justly  that  one  would  think  I  feared  you  had 
some  secret  knowledge  of  me,  so  forbearing  have 
I  been.  What!  because  out  of  my  service  I  spare 
you  three  weeks'  time — 'ill  spare  it  —  must  you 
take  a  half-day  more  ?  Without  a  word — a  sign— 
and  then  defend  your  fault  with  noisy  voice  and 
rampant  head?  Let  me  see  you  tame  it.  Speak 
me  humbly  if  you  would  not  push  my  temper  to 
the  uttermost." 

And  yet  Rolf's  son  did  not  throttle  him, — only 
stood  looking  at  him  with  head  lowered  and  thrust 
forward  like  a  bull  moose  at  bay.  The  hand  Olaf 
had  laid  on  his  hilt,  in  the  hope  of  being  called  upon 
to  defend  his  lord,  fell  paralyzed.  He  doubted  the 
ears  that  brought  him  Randvar's  low  answer : 

"Lord,  I  entreat  you  to  hold  down  your  anger. 
Remember  that  we  are  not  alone,  and— 

"Call  you  that  humbleness  which  would  com 
mand  me  where  and  before  whom  I  shall  rebuke 
you?"  Starkad's  son  snarled.  "  Now  do  you  stand 
so  stubborn  as  to  think  that  I  will  hold  back  from 
punishing  you?  Bend  lower — low  as  your  knee!" 

Again  Olaf  made  a  hopeful  move  towards  his 
sword.  Again  his  arm  fell  benumbed.  Rigidly 
as  a  man  of  iron,  Rolf's  son  had  knelt,  his  sinewy, 
brown  hands  gripping  each  other  behind  his  back. 

214 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

Who  was  the  stillest  for  a  while  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  say  —  the  Songsmith  or  the  gaping 
courtman  or  the  young  ruler,  who  stood  wiping 
great  drops  from  his  forehead  while  his  devil-like 
eyes  watched  Olaf  from  under  his  palm. 

"Are  your  French  courtmen  better  broken?" 
he  sneered  at  last.  - 

Out  of  his  trance  Olaf  came  slowly.  Drawing 
his  shapely  form  erect,  he  laughed  mellowly  in  his 
enjoyment. 

"  Jarl,  I  make  you  a  hundred  compliments!  The 
proudest  king  in  France  had  not  dared  say  one- 
half  as  much  to  his  meanest  lackey.  I  make  you 
a  thousand  apologies  for  my  stupidity!  I  see 
now  that  what  makes  the  forester  a  comfort  to 
you  is  not  his  boldness  but  his  meekness.  I  give 
you  ten  thousand  thanks  for  the  merry  lesson  you 
have  taught  me!" 

Bowing  almost  at  the  song -maker's  side,  he 
laughed  almost  in  the  song-maker's  ear,  and  laugh 
ing  bowed  himself  gracefully  out  of  the  room. 

Swiftly  as  well  as  gracefully  it  must  have  been, 
for  while  the  sound  of  the  soft  mirth  was  still  in  the 
air,  the  Jarl  rushed  forward  with  the  snarl  of  a  wolf 
robbed  of  its  bone,  yet  Randvar  had  time  to  leap 
ahead  of  him.  On  Olaf's  heels,  the  song-maker 
shut  the  door  with  a  thunderous  crash,  and  set  his 
back  against  it. 

215 


XVI 

"He  that  guesseth,  often  goes  wrong" 

— Northern  saying. 

N  the  sudden  darkness  that  shut 
down  upon  them,  the  Songsmith 
felt  Helvin's  body  dash  against  his, 
heard  Helvin's  hiss  at  his  ear: 

"  Let  me  after  him, — do  you  hear  ?" 
"Let  you  betray  your  state  to  all  men?     Lord, 
I  have  saved  your  secret — 

"  I  will  kill  him  only  for  coming  so  near  to  guess 
ing  it!" 

"Has  all  sense  left  you?" 

"Off,  or  he  will  reach  the  hall-door  before  I  can 
catch  him !  Would  you  turn  my  wrath  upon  your 
self?" 

"Keep  your  wrath  within  bounds,  lord,  as  I 
kept  mine.  Do  you  suppose  that  after  stripping 
off  my  pride  to  wrap  it  about  your  cursed  secret,  I 
shall  allow  your  folly  to  undo— 

"  Allow  ?  Mother  of  Heaven !  do  you  know  what 
you  are  defying?" 

216 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"Do  you  forget  that  I  am  not  the  rabbit-hearted 
thing  I  feigned  to  be— 

"Out  of  the  way!" 

"No—" 

Short  as  the  word  was,  it  was  cut  in  two  by  the 
slam  of  the  great  doors  at  the  guard-room's  farther 
end.  One  breath  Randvar  let  out  in  relief,  then 
drew  in  one  in  dread  and  braced  himself  for  the 
grapple. 

But  nothing  came. 

No  use  to  strain  his  eyes,  for  darkness  was  now 
so  thick  upon  them  that  it  carried  a  sense  of 
smothering  with  it.  He  strained  his  woodsman's 
ear,  trained  to  catch  the  lightest  bending  of  a  twig 
beneath  a  fox's  foot,  but  not  so  much  as  the  sound 
of  a  faintly  drawn  breath  rewarded  him.  Delicate 
ly  as  a  butterfly  uses  its  feelers,  he  put  out  a  ringer, 
then,  and  found  that  the  spot  where  Helvin  had 
stood  was  empty.  More  silent  than  the  stealthiest 
wind  that  tries  to  creep  unnoted  through  the 
forest,  he  had  withdrawn  to  some  quarter  of  the 
darkness. 

From  his  head  to  his  feet,  shuddering  shook  the 
song-maker  as  his  mind  strove  to  follow  that 
withdrawal  to  its  goal,  to  picture  him  who  stood 
hidden  there.  The  temptation  to  let  in  the  fire 
light  to  show  what  thing  he  faced  was  so  torture- 
strong  that  he  took  his  hands  off  the  door- panels 

217 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

on  which  they  were  spread  out  and  locked  them 
before  him,  and  gave  himself  the  relief  of  speaking 
Kelvin's  name  in  a  low  voice,  entreating,  soothing. 

No  answer  came.  A  windless  cavern  in  the 
marrow  of  the  earth's  bones  had  not  been  stiller. 
From  the  living-room  without  came  the  rattle  of 
knife  and  trencher,  as  the  evening  meal  wore  on ; 
the  clink  of  horns  with  the  arrival  of  drinking- 
time;  by-and-by,  snatches  of  maudlin  song.  Even 
the  shuffling  patter  of  the  thralls  the  Songsmith 
caught  through  the  oaken  panels,  but  in  the  room 
where  he  kept  vigil,  only  the  thundering  echo  of 
his  heart  throbbing  in  his  ears. 

Perhaps  its  pealing  was  enough  to  blunt  his 
hearing.  Though  he  detected  no  rustle  of  ap 
proach,  his  cheek  was  touched  of  a  sudden  by  a 
fiery  breath,  which  like  a  poisonous  vapor  brought 
with  it  dizzy  horror.  The  torture  of  two  hands 
falling  stealthily  upon  his  shoulders  —  tightening 
swift  to  the  grip  of  claws — recalled  him  for  an  in 
stant  to  himself;  then  again  his  brain  whirled,  as 
a  bushy  thing  that  he  knew  for  the  mass  of  Kelvin's 
blood-red  hair  was  pressed  against  his  face. 

Back  from  it  he  strained  with  all  his  might, 
fought  it  off  with  all  the  power  of  his  toughened 
sinews;  but  with  a  strength  beyond  the  strength 
of  man,  the  hands  drew  him  slowly  steadily  down 
ward. 

218 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

Suddenly,  to  his  mounting  madness,  it  was  no 
longer  Helvin  with  whom  he  struggled.  It  was 
some  being  from  another  world,  some  nameless 
Thing  against  which  his  gorge  rose  up  in  loathing 
hate.  Twice  he  gasped  out  warning,  then  loosened 
his  grasp  on  the  bushy  hair,  wrenched  out  his 
sword  and  stabbed  downward. 

With  the  sinking  of  blade  in  flesh,  a  sharp  un- 
human  scream  rang  out;  the  clutch  on  his  shoul 
ders  loosened.  Even  before  he  could  tear  off  the 
dragging  weight  and  hurl  it  from  him,  it  had  fallen 
heavily,  shaking  the  timbered  floor. 

Like  an  echo  came  cries  from  the  guard-room 
without,  thunder  of  feet,  clangor  of  weapons. 
Randvar  was  sent  staggering  across  the  room  as 
the  door  behind  him  was  burst  open  by  a  dozen 
brawny  shoulders.  On  the  threshold  appeared 
Visbur,  the  grizzled  old  leader;  behind  him,  two- 
score  excited  faces. 

On  the  threshold  they  paused,  staring  at  the 
sight  the  inrushing  firelight  revealed, — Helvin  Jarl 
lying  in  a  pool  of  blood ;  beyond  him  the  figure  of 
his  song-maker,  bristling-haired,  a  bloody  sword 
in  his  hand.  Half  wrathful,  half  incredulous,  their 
voices  rose: 

"Rolf's  son  a  traitor!" 

But  no  thought  had  the  Songsmith  for  them. 
On  the  face  upturned  from  the  blood  pool  his  gaze 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

was  riveted.  It  was  Kelvin's  face,  unmarred,  un 
changed  ;  in  the  gray  eyes  only  unutterable  anguish ; 
anguish  unutterable  on  the  finely  cut  mouth  that 
was  trying  vainly  to  form  and  send  forth  words. 
It  was  Helvin,  his  friend,  that  his  madness  had 
laid  low.  With  a  hoarse  cry,  he  flung  the  weapon 
from  him,  and  turned  and  buried  his  head  in  the 
bed-curtains. 

As  from  a  distance,  he  heard  the  scuffling  of  feet 
staggering  under  a  heavy  burden,  and  felt  the  jar  of 
the  bed  as  they  lowered  their  load  upon  it ;  but  he 
came  back  to  consciousness  only  when  stern  hands 
laid  hold  of  him  and  drew  him  from  his  shelter. 
He  realized,  then,  the  consequences  of  his  deed  as 
he  met  the  awful  reproach  of  the  looks  bent  on 
him  and  saw  the  barrier  of  crossed  spears  that  had 
been  set  before  him. 

Visbur  said:  "Chief,  there  is  no  need  for  us  to 
wait  for  lawmen.  Say  only  whether  he  is  to  be 
shot  or  hanged." 

Pushing  off  those  who  wrere  trying  to  cut  away 
his  robe  and  find  his  wound,  the  Jarl  dragged  him 
self  up  by  the  bed-draperies,  turning  a  ghastly  face 
upon  the  room. 

"Free  him,"  his  lips  made  out  to  shape. 

After  a  bewildered  pause,  the  old  warrior  said 
slowly:  "I  suppose  what  you  are  trying  to  order 
is,  'Slay  him,'  not  understanding  that  I  said  it 

220 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

should  be  done  before  the  clots  on  his  blade  were 
dry.  All  I  ask,  chief,  is  in  what  manner  he  is  to 
suffer  death?" 

With  as  much  force  as  his  half-swoon  left  him, 
the  Jarl  shook  his  head,  repeating  the  words  so 
that  there  was  no  mistaking  them:  "Free  him — 
and  let  him  to  me." 

But  even  as  the  Songsmith  turned,  speaking  his 
friend's  name  unsteadily,  Visbur  made  his  men 
a  sign ;  and  the  spear-wall  remained. 

"Hold  him  and  take  him  forth,"  the  leader 
commanded.  "Starkad's  son  has  gone  astray  out 
of  his  wits.  I  will  answer  for  the  act  when  he  is 
sane  again." 

"You  will  answer  —  with  your  life,"  the  Jarl 
said  between  gasping  breaths.  "  While  I  live — I 
shall  have  my  way.  And  my  luck  is  not  so  good 
that  I  am  dying.  It  is  no  more  than  a  flesh- 
wound.  I  swooned  from — from  my  rage.  Let  him 
to  me." 

This  time  he  stretched  out  a  shaking  hand,  and 
the  spears  fell.  In  a  moment  the  Songsmith  was 
kneeling  beside  the  bed,  the  arm  that  had  so  near 
ly  mastered  him  lying  around  his  neck. 

"Tell  them  —  enough.  Enough  to  clear  your 
self,"  Helvin  murmured. 

Around  the  circle  of  hard  old  faces  that  until 
now  had  met  his  glance  so  cordially,  Rolf's  son 


Pandvar   the  Songsmith 

sent  a  beseeching  look,  then  dropped  his  eyes  in 
despair. 

"Jarl,  I  could  never  say  so  much  as  to  make 
them  believe  me;  before  them  I  stand  proved  a 
traitor  who  has  turned  blade  against  his  lord. 
And  how  shall  I  speak  against  the  truth  of  that 
judgment?  I  am  eyery  man's  dastard.  Lord,  I 
would  as  lief  go  out  with  them."  His  voice  broke, 
and  he  did  not  seek  to  mend  it. 

But  Helvin  spoke  as  curtly  as  his  faintness  al 
lowed,  "Raise  me  up,"  and  when  that  was  done, 
"  Bring  me  wine. "  From  the  beaker,  he  lifted  a  face 
pitched  to  determination. 

"  Let  all  listen  to  my  words,  that  I  need  not 
speak  twice.  He  bore  from  me  more  than  any  of 
you  would  have  borne.  He  lost  his  temper  only 
when  I  drove  him  to  frenzy.  He  struck  only  to 
save  his  life." 

"To  save  his  life,  chief?  And  you  with  bare 
hands!"  old  Visbur  said  slowly. 

Of  a  sudden,  sick  shuddering  seized  upon  the 
Jarl,  so  that  his  head  drooped  and  sank.  But 
even  as  they  started  towards  him,  he  raised  it- 
raised  himself  with  the  force  of  his  passion. 

"Now  damnation  take  such  loyalty!"  he  cried. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  he  is  not  guilty  as  you  think, 

—I  will  lower  myself  to  no  more  explaining.     He 

goes  free  because  I  will  it.     And  if  any  man  re- 

222 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

ports  this  happening  outside,  so  that  even  in  peo 
ple's  thoughts  my  friend  b,e  held  up  to  reproach, 
that  man  shall  be  outlawed,  and  have  my  wrath 
besides.  Bear  that  in  mind — and  leave  me  now 
to  him — whose  support  I  have  always  found  best." 

Upon  the  song-maker's  shoulder  he  fell,  spent; 
and  the  guard  who  went  last  from  the  room  heard 
his  moan: 

"My  friend,  my  friend,  this  is  that  one  thing 
that  could  tear  us  asunder!  It  will  be  your  life 
or  mine." 

The  man  had  passed  out  of  hearing  when  Rand 
var  answered  slowly:  "If  that  be  true,  lord,  then 
mine  is  the  life  that  will  end.  I  know  now  which 
would  be  the  easier  to  bear." 


XVII 

"Cold  are  the  counsels  of  women " 

— Northern  saying. 

JLINDED  by  the  change  from  the 
hall's  unbroken  shade  to  the  court 
yard's  untempered  light,  Randvar 
lingered  on  the  threshold.  As  upon 
,  helpless  prey,  the  unsparing  sunshine 
of  the  spring  morning  fastened  on  him  and  pointed 
out  that  his  leather  tunic  had  been  dragged  open 
at  the  throat  and  his  sleeves  torn  out  at  the  shoul 
ders,  that  his  face  was  haggard  and  his  eyes  blood 
shot.  The  thralls,  hurrying  to  and  from  the  build 
ings  with  fresh  water  and  clean  straw,  laughed 
indulgently  as  they  glanced  at  him,  and  murmured 
one  to  another:  "Behold  a  man  who  drank  deep 
last  night!" 

No  more  than  if  he  had  been  wine-deadened  was 
he  conscious  of  their  comments  or  their  presence. 
He  had  drunk  of  misery  as  of  a  heady  liquor,  and 
like  a  drunkard's  thirst  for  water  was  his  longing 
for  the  presence  of  the  woman  he  loved.  Seeking 
her — conscious  only  of  his  need  of  her — he  made 

224 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

• 

his  way  across  the  glaring  stretch  of  the  court 
yard,  through  the  dim  length  of  the  women's  hall, 
to  the  shrine  of  her  alcove  bower. 

Before  he  reached  it,  its  open  door  gave  him 
view  of  tapestried  walls  in  whose  dusky  east  a 
mirror  of  silver- gilt  hung  like  a  rising  sun,  of  white- 
robed  tirewomen  moving  now  and  again  across 
it,  of  the  girl  who  stood  before  it  while  they  fin 
ished  dressing  her,  her  exquisite  head  agleatn 
against  the  dark  hangings  like  a  jewel  in  its  cas 
ket.  His  sense  of  beauty  stirred  through  his  heav 
iness,  and  quickened  song- makers'  fancies  in  his 
mind. 

"The  web  of  her  hair  glows  as  the  dragon's 
treasure  glowed  in  the  gloom  of  his  den.  ...  As 
a  pearl  from  a  setting  of  red  gold  shines  her  face 
from  her  tresses.  ...  As  rare  as  a  jewel  is  Brynhild 
the  Proud  ...  as  unbending  ...  as  untender  ..." 

Into  his  longing  crept  something  akin  to  wist- 
fulness.  He  stood  gazing  at  her  in  silence  as — en 
countering  his  eyes  in  the  mirror — she  raised  her 
head  with  a  motion  of  surprise.  He  wondered  why 
she  did  not  turn  when  he  advanced,  but  remained 
regarding  his  reflection  and  spoke  as  to  the  man 
in  the  bright  oval. 

"  Has  Freya's  son  lost  sight  of  my  dignity,  as 
well  as  of  his  own,  that  he  comes  in  disorder  into 
my  presence?" 

225 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

•» 
"Disorder?"  he  repeated,  looking  for  the  first 

time  at  his  reflection. 

An  instant  he  stood  abashed  before  it,  so  did 
it  jar  upon  the  stately  harmony;  then  the  grim 
scene  that  had  brought  him  to  that  condition 
came  back  and  dwarfed  everything  else.  With  a 
gesture  of  passionate  scorn,  he  turned  from  the 
mirror. 

"  Jarl's  sister,  if  ever  it  happen  to  you  to  reach 
the  sap  of  the  Tree  of  Life,  such  things  as  clothes 
will  seem  less  important  than  cobwebs  blowing 
from  its  branches!"  he  said,  and  whirling  on  his 
heel,  he  turned  and  stood  in  the  door,  staring  away 
with  unseeing  eyes. 

Yrsa  the  Lovely,  fastening  a  velvet  pouch  to 
her  mistress's  girdle  of  filigree,  let  it  fall  with  a 
soft  thud ;  but  that  was  all  the  sound  there  was  in 
the  room  until  the  Jarl's  sister  began  to  speak 
coldly  to  the  other  maids: 

"  I  want  to  wear  the  silver  neck-chain—  No,  not 
that  one — the  one  to  match  this  girdle.  Yes,  that. 
And,  Nanna,  I  wish  you  wrould  bring  me  the  ker 
chiefs, — all  that  have  a  silver  fringe."  As  light 
footsteps  answered  her,  and  the  rustle  of  silk,  she 
gave  other  low- voiced  orders. 

Gradually,  the  calm  routine  brought  the  Song- 
smith  back  into  touch  with  the  world  about  him. 
Staring  away  over  the  whirring  wheels,  he  told 

226 


Randvar   the   Song  smith 

himself  that  it  must  look  to  her  as  though  he  had 
come  unsobered  from  a  night's  carousal, — that  it 
was  even  better  she  should  think  so  than  guess 
the  true  reason  for  his  dulled  wits.  Girding  up 
his  patience  for  this  new  trial,  he  turned  back 
wearily. 

"It  is  fair  and  right,  JatTs  sister,  that  I  should 
have  blame  for  showing  you  aught  but  the  bright 
side  of  my  manners,  which  are  tarnished  enough 
at  best.  I  will  take  my  leave  now,  and  come  back 
only  when  the  wine-clouds  have  cleared  from  my 
mind."  He  was  crossing  the  threshold  when  her 
outstretched  hand  stayed  him. 

"I  would  rather  you  would  remain,  if  you.  have 
nothing  against  it,"  she  said,  then  spoke  over  her 
shoulder  to  the  kneeling  tirewomen,  who  were  mak 
ing  the  arrangement  of  her  train  an  excuse  for 
lingering.  "  Maidens,  you  have  done  enough  work 
on  those  folds.  Go  out  now  to  your  spinning, — 
excepting  only  Yrsa.  Foster-sister,  do  you  take 
your  quill  embroidery  to  that  stool  under  the  win 
dow,  yonder." 

When  she  had  seen  them  obey  her,  she  turned 
back  to  her  lover  a  face  whose  expression  he  could 
not  understand. 

"I  will  begin  by  saying  outright  that  you  need 
not  try  to  hide  the  truth  under  the  pretence  that 
it  is  wine  instead  of  trouble  which  ails  you.  I 

227 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

should  know  better  than  that  even  if  Thorgrim's 
son  had  not  taken  pains  to  let  me  hear  how  you 
were  likely  to  pass  the  night." 

In  his  mind  he  repeated  the  name  of  Thorgrim's 
son,  at  first  wonderingly,  then  vengefully;  but 
aloud  he  said  nothing,  only  continued  to  look  at 
her  in  haggard  suspense. 

A  moment  her  high  pride  wavered,  her  beautiful 
mouth  seeming  to  struggle  against  tenderness. 
Coming  up  to  him,  she  touched  her  fingers  lightly 
to  his  rent  sleeves,  his  torn  collar,  the  furrow  be 
tween  his  dark  brows. 

"  It  is  seen  that  Helvin  went  even  further,  after 
Olaf  left !  Do  you  think  that  his.being  my  brother 
holds  me  back  from  hating  him?" 

Two  emotions  the  song-maker  suddenly  knew, — 
relief  that  the  whole  truth  was  still  unknown  to 
her,  and  a  desire  to  delay  those  caressing  fingers. 
Capturing  them,  he  held  them  against  his  cheek 
while  he  asked  her  what  had  been  said  to  make 
her  think  the  Jarl  was  behaving  badly  towards 
him. 

At  that,  her  mouth  surrendered  to  indignation. 

"Enough  was  said — and  more!  I  liked  it  well 
to  have  Olaf  fetch  such  news, — Olaf,  whom  I  cast 
off  in  your  favor!  And  he  brought  it  around  so 
artfully  that  I  could  not  stop  him  until  it  was  out. 
He  said  that  because  you  had  lingered  that  little 

228 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

while  in  the  lane,  Helvin  dared  to  upbraid  you,  to 
threaten  you —  Now,  I  will  not  put  it  into  words! 
He  said  that  the  Jarl  spoke  to  you  as  a  man  dare 
not  speak  to  his  thrall,  lest  the  slave  turn, — and 
that  you  did  not  turn!"  She  plucked  her  hands 
from  his  hold,  drew  herself  away  from  him.  "He 
said  that  you  took  it  submissively — that  when  he 
came  away,  you  were  on  your  knees!" 

No  longer  was  she  pearl-pale,  but  crimson  with 
the  blood  of  her  scourged  pride.  An  instant  her 
passion  reacted  on  him,  so  that  his  face  reflected 
her  flush.  He  muttered  that  Thorgrim's  son  went 
heavily  into  debt  for  a  creature  that  had  only  one 
life  with  which  to  pay.  Then  the  emotion  passed, 
too  slight  really  to  stir  his  heaviness. 

"Yes,  I  submitted  to  him,—  "  he  said,  "as  a  well 
man  puts  up  with  the  fretfulness  of  a  sick  one. 
Would  you  have  a  whole  man  contend  against  a 
cripple  ?  For  that  is  what  Helvin  is  when  he  speaks 
temper- trying  words,  a  man  crippled  in  his  mind. 
What  difference  does  it  make  ?  since  you  must  know 
that  cowardice  could  have  nothing  to  do  with  my 
behavior.  I  can  think  of  much  pleasanter  things 
to  speak  of." 

Again  a  certain  wistfulness  came  into  his  eyes, 
and  he  drew  nearer  to  her. 

"  Let  me  feel  that  I  have  a  peace  land  in  your 
heart,  though  all  other  ports  are  war-bound.  If 

229 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

I  were  in  a  death-swoon,  the  sound  of  your  voice 
would  trickle  into  my  ears  like  cordial  and  spread 
healing  through  me.  Give  me  of  its  balm  now — of 
your  smile — your  love." 

Another  step  he  made  towards  her, — then  stopped 
short.  For  it  was  not  as  a  minister  of  healing  she 
faced  him,  but  as  a  Valkyria  of  battle,  armored 
in  pride.  Like  spears  she  threw  her  words  at 
him. 

"As  soon  would  I  that  you  were  a  coward  as  a 
churl!  Churl's  blood  —  Rolf's  blood  —  that  must 
be  what  it  is!  Freya's  stock  would  have  struck 
the  words  from  his  lips  though  he  were  thrice  a 
jarl.  Now  better  be  a  coward  than  a  clod,  too 
base  to  know  it  when  you  are  insulted." 

This  time  the  color  that  rose  to  his  face  remained 
there,  a  darkling  shade.  From  under  lowering  lids 
he  stood  looking  at  her. 

"  If  you  would  not  have  me  show  churl's  blood 
by  losing  temper  with  you,"  he  said  presently, 
"I  ask  you  to  stop  talking  about  this  happening. 
So  soon  as  Helvin  got  himself  in  hand  again,  he 
made  atonement ;  and  that  is  an  end  to  the  matter. 
What  lies  on  you,  who  say  you  love  me,  is  to  have 
faith  in  my  manfulness.  And  I  ask  you,  more 
over,  to  remember  that  you  are  fretting  a  churl 
who  has  already  been  galled  to  the  quick." 

She  greeted  the  warning  as  a  Valkyria  might 
230 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

greet  a  sign  that  her  opponent  is  aroused.  In  her 
governed  voice  was  the  thrill  of  a  trumpet. 

"  Lose  your  temper,  then,  as  fast  as  you  may, — 
and  so  find  your  pride!  Half-way,  I  think  it  is 
good-nature  that  makes  you  bend  to  him;  and 
half-way,  gratefulness  for  the  favors  you  have 
taken  from  him;  though  you  have  long  known 
what  my  wish  is,  that  you  should  never  look  to 
any  one  else  than  to  me  when  you  stand  in  need 
of  anything." 

Her  satin-shod  foot  stirred  with  an  angry  im 
pulse.  "A  fine  atonement  that  is  given  in  secret, 
while  he  chose  that  time  when  you  were  under  the 
eyes  of  your  enemy  to  put  shame  upon  you!  Can 
you  not  understand,  Rolf's  son,  that  you  drag  me 
down  in  your  disgrace,  since  I  have  done  you  the 
honor  to  promise  to  wed  you?  If  you  have  no 
pride  for  yourself — for  Freya's  name — make  some 
for  me,  that  it  be  not  told  .around  that  the  man 
I  hold  highest  in  honor  is  a  man  Starkad's  son  uses 
like  a  thrall!" 

The  Songsmith  opened  his  compressed  lips  wide 
enough  to  let  a  question  through:  "  Is  this  a  sam 
ple  of  the  honor  you  hold  me  in?" 

"It  is  the  kindest  treatment  you  will  ever  re 
ceive  from  me  until  you  have  wiped  out  this  stain," 
she  told  him. 

Then  because  he  did  not  reply  to  her,  but  fold- 
231 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ing  his  arms  across  his  breast,  turned  as  though  to 
leave  her,  she  blazed  out  at  him: 

"The  end  of  this  shall  be  that  you  take  your 
choice  of  two  things!  Either  you  go  to  him  and 
renounce  his  service,  or  else  you  go  from  me  and 
renounce  the  hope  that  I  shall  ever  call  you  hus 
band." 

He  answered  her  then,  his  arms  outflung  like 
stones  from  a  volcano's  crest,  though  his  voice  only 
deepened. 

"May  my  tongue  wither  if  ever  I  ask  to  call 
myself  your  thrall!  A  bad  bargain  would  that  be 
to  throw  off  a  man's  rule  to  be  commanded  by  a 
woman!  Not  though  she  be  as  fair  as  you,  and 
I  love  her  as  I  love  you!  I  have  sworn  an  oath  to 
Helvin  Jarl  to  stand  by  him  as  by  a  brother,  and 
never  shall  you  egg  me  on  to  break  it.  If  your 
lover's  love  is  not  enough,  and  you  must  have  his 
freedom  also,  seek  out  a  lesser  man  for  your  favor; 
for  as  God  lives,  my  pride  that  you  have  scorned 
—be  it  king-born  or  churl-born — will  never  stoop 
to  your  rule!" 

With  the  last  word,  the  door  closed  behind  him. 


XVIII 

"But  a  short  while  is  hand  fain  of  blow" 

— Northern  saying. 

iVER  field  and  fallow,  through  wood 
and  meadow,  up  hill  and  down,  on— 
on — -on — the  song-maker  strode,  no 
goal  before  him,  only  driving  revolt 
I  within  him. 

Whenever  road  or  lane  made  a  turn  towards 
the  east,  the  glaring  May  sunshine  struck  him  in 
the  face.  Fending  it  off  with  his  bended  arm,  he 
conceived  a  hatred  of  its  stare,  of  the  garish  blue 
sky  it  fell  from,  of  the  bustling  sounds  it  called 
forth.  On  all  sides  they  rose  in  a  strident  chorus, 
chattering  birds  in  the  hedges,  screaming  cocks  in 
the  barn-yards,  racketing  children  on  every  green, 
shrill-laughing  women  washing  clothes  at  every 
pond, — even  the  shouts  of  distant  ploughmen  were 
added  by  the  breeze. 

In  fitful  gusts  the  warm  dry  wind  went  with 
him  like  some  romping  oaf,  now  rushing  ahead 
down  the  road  to  beat  up  the  dust  with  clumsy 
glee,  now  lying  in  wait  around  some  corner  to 

233 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

pounce  upon  him  with  snorts  of  mirth  and  buffet 
him  and  wind  his  hair  across  his  face.  Struggling 
with  it,  his  fury  rose  as  against  some  boorish  jester. 
He  shouted  in  its  teeth: 

"  If  you  had  but  a  body  that  hands  could  lay 
hold  of—!" 

The  craving  for  combat — like  fire  it  was  fanned 
in  him  by  the  dry  gusts.  He  drew  breath  sharply 
when  following  a  narrow  wood-trail  brought  him 
suddenly  into  the  highway  and  face  to  face  with 
Gunnar  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  young  courtmen. 
If  they  would  but  jostle  him  in  their  careless  mood 
— so  much  as  kick  up  the  dust  about  him — give  him 
any  excuse  whatsoever —  His  mouth  watered  at 
the  thought  of  what  would  follow!  Disappoint 
ment  increased  his  rage  when — after  one  look  at 
him — they  toned  their  familiar  hails  down  to  punc 
tilious  salutes,  and  picked  their  way  around  him 
as  around  a  fire. 

His  head  set  low,  he  was  standing  looking  af 
ter  them,  when  another  wayfarer  came  cantering 
around  the  bend  behind  him  and  almost  rode  him 
down.  He  had  seized  the  horse  by  its  bridle  and 
forced  it  back  upon  its  haunches  before  he  realized 
that  the  befringed  and  befeathered  rider  in  blue- 
and-silverwas  no  other  than  his  small  foster-brother. 

Releasing  the  bronze  chain,  he  stepped  aside 
with  a  smothered  oath. 

234 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"You  elf!"  he  said.  "Erna's  luck  will  not  last 
you  long  if  you  draw  on  it  often  in  this  way.  Take 
yourself  on." 

Undeniably,  the  elf's  first  impulse  was  towards 
obedience.  He  had  drawn  in  his  chin  and  let  his 
horse  carry  him  by,  before  he  remembered  his  new 
dignity  and  pulled  rein  alike  on  steed  and  inclina 
tion.  Like  one  adjusting  new  garments,  he  thrust 
out  his  chest  and  stiffened  his  spine  as  he  turned. 

"  I  must  ask  you  not  to  call  me  by  familiar 
names  as  though  we  were  still  on  good  terms,"  he 
said.  "I  find  that  it  concerns  my  honor,  while  I 
am  page  to  the  noble  Olaf,  to  stand  up  for  my 
rights  with  point  and  edge." 

The  Songsmith's  impulse  towards  laughter  was 
strong  enough  to  send  a  note  beyond  his  unmirth- 
ful  lips.  Then,  as  the  splendid  personage  began 
solemnly  to  clamber  to  the  ground,  he  shook  him 
self  irritably. 

"  Eric,  you  are  not  wont  to  be  a  fool— with  me— 
and  this  is  a  bad  time  to  begin.  Stay  in  your 
saddle  and  ride  along." 

Either  Eric's  flowery  phrases  felt  the  blight  of 
contempt,  or  else  no  more  of  them  had  taken  root 
under  his  curly  hair.  In  silence  he  came  on,  his 
rosy  mouth  screwed  up  to  the  point  of  his  resolve, 
and  planted  himself  before  his  foster-brother. 

"  You  have  got  to  do  one  of  two  things — either 
;6  235 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

make  atonement  for  the  blows  I  received  at  your 
hand,  or  else  cross  swords  with  me,"  he  issued 
his  ultimatum,  with  a  circling  sweep  of  his  arm 
towards  the  longer  of  the  two  silver-ornamented 
sheaths  that  were  a  part  of  his  new  attire. 

Again  the  song-maker  wavered  between  laughter 
and  irritation,  looking  down  at  the  manful  swag 
ger  in  which  the  small  legs  were  spread  apart. 

"  Be  good  enough  to  say  what  use  you  could  be 
put  to  after  I  had  crossed  swords  with  you?"  he 
inquired. 

The  boy  pushed  back  his  curls  eagerly. 

"I  told  Olaf  that  I  believed  you  would  not  be 
slow  in  understanding  honorable  ways!"  he  cried. 
"It  is  not  my  meaning  that  we  should  really  fight 
each  other.  Only  that  you  shall  draw  your  wea 
pon  and  let  me  make  some  thrusts  at  you,  and 
then  you  can  make  some  passes  at  me — easy  ones 
—and  after  that  I  will  declare  myself  satisfied 
and-" 

"So  that  is  the  kind  of  stuff  your  new  master  is 
filling  your  head  with,"  his  foster-brother's  voice 
crossed  his.  "If  I  were  not  afraid  of  losing  my 
temper  with  you,  I  would  use  the  flat  of  my  blade 
on  your  back  in  a  way  that  would  not  increase 
your  dignity,  but  rather —  Of  a  sudden,  what 
patience  he  had  deserted  him;  he  flung  out  his 
arms  in  a  gesture  before  which  the  small  warrior 

236 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

scuttled  involuntarily.  "  Trolls,  am  I  to  be  plagued 
by  a  gnat  when  I  am  in  the  mood  to  attack  giants? 
Keep  away  from  me  if  you  would  not  run  the  risk 
as  to  how  it  turns  out." 

Pressing  his  fingers  to  his  ears  to  shut  out  an 
other  burst  of  French-made  eloquence,  he  strode 
on,  and  stopped  only  to  save  himself  from  stum 
bling  over  the  youngster,  who  had  again  thrown 
himself  in  the  way,  dancing  gnatlike. 

"You  have  got  to  fight  me,"  he  was  shrieking. 
"  I  shall  lose  my  credit  with  Olaf  unless  you  do. 
I  will  cut  your  kirtle  with  my  knife, — do  you  hear? 
I  will  cut  off  one  of  your  buttons." 

Whether  or  not  Rolf's  son  heard  the  threats  or 
the  grating  of  the  steel  against  the  gold,  he  felt  the 
sharp  jerk  at  his  sleeve,  and  exasperation  rose  in 
him.  Before  he  well  knew  what  he  was  about,  he 
had  reached  out  and  seized  the  boy  by  a  leg  and 
an  arm  and  swung  him  high  in  the  air.  Only  that 
he  realized  what  a  toy  the  body  was  to  his  strength 
saved  him  from  dashing  it  head  foremost  against 
the  stones  of  the  road -side  wall,  and  recalled  him 
to  himself  so  that  he  tumbled  it  lightly  on  the 
grass  instead. 

"  Well  that  it  was  no  worse!  Do  you  want  to  be 
killed  that  you  try  me  so?"  he  cried  under  his 
breath,  and  turned  to  flee  temptation  before  the 
blue-and-silver  heap  could  right  itself. 

237 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Turning,  he  found  himself  within  a  dozen  paces 
of  Olaf ,  Thorgrim's  son,  who  had  followed  his  page 
round  the  curve  and  sat  in  his  saddle  awaiting  the 
boy's  fate  with  keen  interest. 

Not  soon  enough  could  Olaf  hide  the  disappoint 
ment  that  had  convulsed  him  on  seeing  Eric 
dropped  unscathed.  The  Songsmith  caught  the 
expression  and  read  it  and  understood  at  last  the 
snare  that  had  been  set  for  him.  Scorn  brought 
his  rage  to  that  point  of  white  heat  where  his 
voice  sounded  curiously  still. 

"You  —  dastard!"  he  said.  "So  that  is  what 
you  were  plotting,  that  I  should  be  fretted  into 
slaying  the  young  one,  and  furnish  you  with  the 
excuse  of  avenging  him.  That  is  why  you  be 
guiled  him  into  your  service — poisoned  his  mind 
against  me — set  him  on  me  when  you  suspected 
that  my  temper  would  be  raw." 

No  answer  came '  from  Olaf 's  parted  curving 
lips;  only  he  leaped  expectant  from  his  horse  and 
stood  looking  at  his  enemy,  the  glitter  of  his  eyes 
heightened  to  a  white  glare.  As  metal  bars  un 
der  white  heat,  Randvar's  prudence  lost  shape  and 
ran.  In  the  relief  from  its  restraint,  he  vented 
his  short  laugh,  plucking  the  cap  from  his  head 
with  a  fantastic  flourish  before  he  tossed  it  aside. 

"Behold,  how  much  needless  trouble  you  took!" 
he  cried.  "  Here  have  I  walked  the  roads  all  morn- 

238 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

ing  only  in  the  hope  of  meeting  you,  caring  never 
a  whit  whether  you  gave  me  a  new  excuse  or  not! 
At  any  price  would  the  joy  of  slaying  you  be 
a  bargain.  Shall  I  make  it  plain  that  I  chal 
lenge?" 

As  a  bolt  from  a  bow  shot  his  fist  from  his 
shoulder,  landing  fair  and  square  on  the  smiling 
mouth  he  hated.  At  sight  of  its  marred  line,  its 
starting  blood,  he  laughed  again  and  drew  back 
and  unsheathed  his  sword. 

Olaf 's  curse  cut  the  short  laugh  shorter,  as  his 
brand  flashed  forth.  The  next  sound  was  curter 
still,  the  jarring  clash  of  steel  on  steel. 

Far  as  sound  could  carry,  it  bore  the  news  that 
mortal  enemies  had  met.  Catching  no  more  than 
a  faint  echo,  Gunnar  and  his  mates — far  down  the 
road  —  whirled,  crying,  "The  Songsmith!"  and, 
"Thorgrim's  son!"  and  then,  as  with  one  voice, 
"Randvar  is  not  his  match!"  and  after  that  came 
loping  back,  their  eyes  agleam.  Sweeter  than 
harp-music,  it  filled  the  ears  of  the  men  wielding 
the  swords. 

Fierce  is  the  thirst  for  water,  but  fiercer  still 
the  thirst  for  life.  Parching  his  veins,  it  spread 
through  Rolf's  son.  Now  it  seemed  appeased  as 
he  felt  the  parting  of  flesh  under  his  blade,  saw  red 
water  rise  in  the  well  he  had  digged.  Now  he  knew 
the  fiery  pang  of  Olaf 's  point  entering  his  own  flesh, 

239 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

and  the  thirst  consumed  him  anew.     Kill!  'kill! 
kill!  it  roared  in  his  ears  above  the  clashing. 

Olaf 's  greater  skill  against  his  charmed  body- 
it  was  a  fair  game.  To  leave  his  heart  unguarded 
that  Thorgrim's  son  might  lunge  at  the  opening 
and  in  the  act  of  lunging  leave  himself  exposed— 
that  was  the  way  to  play  it;  and  he  played  with 
all  his  might,  drove  home  each  thrust  with  laughter. 

Round  the  road-bend  Gunnar  came  panting,  fol 
lowed  by  Aslak,  and  behind  him,  the  others.  At 
the  ghastly  glimpse  they  caught,  through  swirl- 
dust-clouds,  of  the  song-maker  laughing  like  a 
madman  while  blood  oozed  through  every  slit  in 
his  slashed  garments,  they  uttered  cries  of  dismay ; 
but  he  paid  them  back  with  jests  shouted  hoarsely 
above  the  clatter.  How  could  they  know  what 
wild  joy  it  was,  unhampered  as  the  sweeping  fury 
of  a  storm!  He  would  have  wished  never  to  end 
it,  had  he  not  feared  betrayal  by  that  oozing  blood. 
If  his  strength  were  to  fail  before  his  vengeance 
was  complete—! 

To  the  friends  watching  him,  it  was  a  welcome 
relief  when  laughter  left  his  face,  and  it  set  instead 
in  the  stony  lines  of  one  rallying  all  his  forces. 
Gripping  his  sword  in  both  hands,  he  abandoned 
all  pretence  of  defending  himself,  bent  all  his 
might  on  beating  down  Olaf 's  guard.  Twice,  they 
saw  the  French  One's  blade  reach  him  and  open 

240 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

crimson  gaps;  but  he  seemed  not  to  feel  it.  Step 
by  step,  he  drove  his  enemy  backward  until  he  had 
him  at  bay  against  a  tree — until  it  wanted  but  one 
thrust  to  pin  him  there — 

Why  he  did  not  give  that  thrust,  the  on-lookers 
knew  first,  who  saw  Eric  spring  forward  with  a 
shrill  cry  and  strike  his  foster-brother  on  the 
breast,  plunging  into  his  heart  a  knife  he  held. 
Then  their  wrath  was  lost  in  wonder  that  the 
Songsmith  did  not  fall,  only  staggered  back 
against  the  low  stone  wall  and  leaned  there,  pass 
ing  his  hand  before  his  eyes  as  a  man  trying  to 
clear  mist  from  his  vision. 

"Eric!     It  was  never  you?"  he  said. 

But  even  as  he  said  it,  his  glance  fell  to  the  red 
dened  blade  in  the  boy's  hand ;  while  Olaf  jeered 
him  over  the  heads  of  those  who  were  holding  him 
back,  telling  him  that  the  fight  was  finished : 

"You  need  not  to  stare  at  him.  It  is  even  as 
you  see;  he  has  betrayed  you." 

No  more  effort  the  Songsmith  made  to  maintain 
his  weakening  hold  upon  his  sword.  Slipping, 
swaying,  staggering,  he  sank,  nor  struggled  against 
it.  If  friends  had  not  been  there  to  care  for  him, 
his  life  had  surely  passed  out  through  his  wounds' 
open  gates. 


XIX 

"By  bending  most,  the  truest  sword  is  known" 

— Northern  saying. 

CROSS  the  court-yard  came  the  Jarl's 
sister  and  her  following  of  white- 
|  armed  maids  and  graceful  pages, 
>and  the  evening  breeze  went  before 
'her  like  a  herald.  With  sleepy  sighs, 
the  budding  fruit-trees  dreaming  in  the  starlight 
bestirred  themselves  to  offer  tribute  of  fragrant 
bloom,  made  the  earth  fair  for  her  treading,  made 
the  air  sweet  for  her  breathing.  Floating  dowrn 
upon  her  bosom,  the  roseate  petals  blended  with 
it  as  flower  with  flower.  Drifting  down  upon  her 
hair,  they  lay  like  unmelting  flakes  amid  its  golden 
fire.  So  wondrous  lovely  was  she  thus  crowned 
that  Yrsa  walking  beside  her  had  an  impulse  of 
admiring  affection,  and  slipped  a  caressing  hand 
into  hers. 

Immediately  after  she  would  have  withdrawn  it, 
making  excuses  for  her  boldness,  but  that  Bryn- 
hild's  gray  eyes  came  down  to  her  as  serene  as 
the  starlit  sky.  Gathering  up  the  timid  fingers 

242 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

with  her  own  firm  supple  ones,  she  drew  her  fos 
ter-sister's  arm  around  her;  and  so  they  moved 
on  together  to  the  women's  house  that  awaited 
with  open  doors  their  return  from  evening  service. 
Gaining  the  light  that  came  through  the  dusk  to 
meet  them  like  a  golden  welcome,  the  Jarl's  sister 
paused  to  look  back  and  raise  a  warning  finger. 

"Keep  in  mind  our  guest,"  she  cautioned. 

Soft  as  the  rippling  chat  and  laughter  had  been, 
it  smoothed  out  now  to  waveless  quiet.  With 
only  the  swish  of  trailing  silk,  the  rustle  of  feet 
through  grass,  they  went  up  the  bright  path  to 
the  door. 

On  the  threshold  they  were  met  by  the  stately 
old  stewardess,  who  was  mother  to  Yrsa  and  the 
foster-mother  of  Brynhild  the  Proud.  Cheerily  the 
Jarl's  sister  accosted  her: 

"If  he  has  changed  by  so  much  as  the  set  of  an 
eyelash,  good  Thorgerda,  I  expect  you  to  tell  me 
without  delay,"  she  said.  Then  she  took  her 
hand  from  Yrsa's,  took  a  swift  step  forward,  as 
from  the  lace  lappings  of  the  head-dress  the  old 
face  looked  towards  her  somewhat  soberly.  "  It 
is  not  possible  that  you  are  going  to  tell  me  that 
his  heart -wound  is  serious  after  all!  That  the 
saints  would  let  it  be  so,  when  I  have  been  daily 
to  their  altars  praising  them  for  the  miracle  by 
which  they  saved  him!" 

243 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"By  no  means,"  Thorgerda  answered  hastily. 
"Just  after  you  left,  I  looked  at  it  again;  and  it 
has  knit  together  as  by  a  miracle  during  the  sleep 
which  has  held  him  so  strangely.  But  as  I  was 
putting  the  bandages  back,  he  came  out  of  his 
sleep." 

"Ah!"  Brynhild  said  softly,  and  put  an  uncer 
tain  finger  to  her  lips.  "What  was  his  mood?" 
she  asked  at  last. 

"  I  wish  I  were  altogether  sure,  foster-daughter. 
If  I  tell  the  truth  of  him,  I  must  say  that  there 
is  a  squareness  to  his  mouth  which  I—  But  you 
shall  hear —  But,  first,  be  pleased  to  come  in  and 
take  your  seat.  It  is  not  fitting— 

"  I  will  not  take  time  to  put  one  foot  over  the 
threshold  until  I  hear  what  lies  so  near  my  happi 
ness,"  the  Jarl's  sister  interrupted  her.  Her  foster- 
mother  began  without  preamble. 

"Thus  it  was,  then.  The  first  thing  I  knew,  he 
had  put  up  his  eyelids  like  a  man  putting  off  blank 
ets,  and  was  gazing  at  the  embroideries  on  the  bed- 
curtains.  Then  he  saw  me,  where  I  stood  near 
the  head,  and  asked  me  slowly  what  place  he  was 
in.  I  said  it  was  the  room  in  the  women's  house 
whither  it  was  the  Jarl's  custom  to  send  sick 
courtmen  to  be  taken  care  of,—  I  thought  it 
unadvisable  to  be  hasty  in  speaking  your  name. 
And  then—" 

244 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

The  Jarl's  sister  crossed  the  threshold  to  get 
nearer  to  her.  "And  then?" 

"  For  a  while  his  expression  told  me  nothing. 
He  lay  so  long  staring  ahead  of  him  that  I  thought 
he  was  falling  asleep  again,  and  turned  to  leave. 
He  has  more  strength  than  you  would  think  likely 
in  a  man  so  drained  of  blood.  A  rustle  made  me 
turn  back  to  find  that  he  had  pulled  himself  up 
and  was  looking  about  for  his  clothes." 

A  sound  that  was  half  a  laugh  and  half  a  sob 
came  from  Brynhild's  round  throat.  "  His  clothes ! 
Those  slashed  and  slitted  —  blood-sponges!  Yet 
what  said  he  when  he  saw  what  garments  we  had 
prepared?" 

"Nothing,  foster-daughter.  As  yet,  stained  and 
tattered  leather  and  gold-embroidered  fabric  are 
all  one  to  him.  I  pointed  out  where  they  hung, 
and  did  not  even  tell  him  that  they  were  useless 
to  him.  As  I  had  expected,  he  was  not  long  in 
finding  it  out.  With  his  first  motion  to  rise,  he 
fell  back  on  his  pillows,  nor  even  argued  with  me 
when  I  proved  to  him  how  foolish  he  was  to  at 
tempt  to  move.  Yet  if  I  know  anything  about  the 
set  of  a  man's  mouth,  he  will  not  do  our  bidding 
long, ' '  the  old  dame  ended  somewhat  unexpectedly. 

The  Jarl's  sister  made  Yrsa  a  sign  to  help  her 
off  with  the  lace  scarf  that  lay  around  her  shoul 
ders,  like  a  mist  about  a  rose. 

245 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"I  will  go  to  him,"  was  all  she  said. 

If  Thorgerda  had  any  thought  of  dissuading  her, 
it  was  abandoned  upon  a  second  glance.  She  spoke 
only  a  word  of  admonishment  as  Starkad's  daugh 
ter  turned  towards  the  foot  of  the  hall. 

"So  it  shall  be,  then.  Still  it  is  good  counsel 
to  tread  softly.  It  may  be  that  he  is  sleeping.  I 
advised  him  to  do  so  when  I  left." 

The  girl  nodded  her  bright  head  impatiently, 
then  shook  it  at  the  thralls  who  sprang  forward 
from  the  benches  at  her  approach.  Hushing  with 
her  hands  the  rustling  of  her  skirts,  she  hastened 
down  the  hall  to  the  western  guest-chamber,  and 
gently  pushed  open  the  door. 

The  song-maker  was  not  sleeping.  Instead,  he 
had  risen  and  dressed  himself  in  the  garments  of 
grape-purple, — as  the  sheen  on  ungathered  grapes 
the  precious  embroideries  were  sparkling  with 
every  move  he  made  in  the  flickering  torch-light. 
Under  one  of  the  fragrant  juniper  wall-candles, 
he  stood  buckling  the  last  buckle  of  the  tunic. 
From  the  task  he  did  not  look  up  as  the  hinges 
creaked,  but  seemed  to  take  for  granted  that  it 
was  Thorgerda  returned. 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  come  in  and  close  the 
door  behind  you  before  you  make  any  fuss,"  he 
'said. 

She  came  in  and  closed  the  door  behind  her, 
246 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

without  making  any  fuss ;  and  he  went  on,  his  eyes 
still  aiding  his  fingers. 

"While  it  is  altogether  unlikely  that  the  Jarl's 
sister  would  raise  any  objections  to  my  departure, 
yet  because  Helvin  sent  me  here  it  might  be  that 
she  would  think  it  her  duty  to  make  some  pro 
tests;  so  I  beg  of  you  that  you  will  not  say  any 
thing  to  her  about  my  going." 

Again  from  the  fountain  of  Brynhild's  white 
throat  welled  up  a  sound  that  was  half  of  laughter, 
half  of  weeping. 

"I  will  promise  you  that,"  she  answered. 

He  looked  up,  then;  and  from  bloodless  white, 
his  face  went  blood -red.  After  a  moment,  he 
made  her  the  most  ceremonious  salutation  at  his 
command. 

"  I  ask  you  to  understand  that  I  mistook  you 
for  your  stewardess,"  he  said.  "She  was  with  me 
but  a  short  while  ago,  when  I  came  back  to  my 
wits.  It  may  be  you  know  that  I  have  been 
out  of  them  these  days,  or  I  would  have  gone 
before." 

To  grope  along  the  walls  for  the  weapon  that  was 
missing  from  his  belt,  he  turned  away.  She  had  a 
strange  feeling  that  his  mind  was  so  far  from  her 
as  scarcely  to  realize  that  she  was  there.  She 
offered  the  feeble  commonplaces  she  might  have 
offered  a  stranger. 

247 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

* 

"Why  should  you  leave?     It  is  the  custom  for 

Jarl's  men  to  be  taken  care  of  here." 

From  his  eyes  that  were  like  dark  caves  in  the 
side  of  a  snow-mountain  came  forth  a  flash  as  he 
glanced  round  at  her.  "That  you  have  a  poor 
opinion  of  me  I  know,  but  I  did  not  know  you 
thought  me  capable  of  making  Kelvin's  order  an 
excuse  for  quartering  myself  upon  you." 

Feeling  with  his  hands  where  the  sword  leaned 
in  a  corner,  he  brought  it  forth,  and  stood  gazing 
at  the  highly  polished  blade.  Once  more  she  had 
the  sensation  of  being  forgotten. 

"  It  is  cleaner  than  it  was  the  last  time  I  saw  it," 
he  said,  "but  I  liked  it  better  then.  What  is  Olaf's 
fate?" 

She  answered  mechanically:  "It  is  told  that  he 
still  keeps  his  bed  at  Mord's  house." 

"Is  that  true?"  he  asked  wonderingly,  arid  a 
smile  that  had  no  connection  with  her  widened 
his  nostrils.  When  he  had  laboriously  buckled 
on  the  sword,  he  came  unsteadily  towards  her. 
"  All  the  thanks  that  are  due  to  your  women  I  pay, 
— or  at  least  I  pay  all  I  have.  If  you  will  allow  me 
to  pass  now,  I  will  take  the  task  off  their  hands." 

Some  of  her  sense  of  strangeness  was  lost,  then, 
in  alarm.  But  even  before  she  could  tell  him  of 
his  weakness,  he  was  forced  to  catch  at  a  chair's 
high  back  to  save  himself  from  falling. 

248 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"And  bid  one  of  your  servants  give  me  his 
shoulder  across  the  court-yard,"  he  murmured. 

"  I  will  bid  two  of  them  take  you  by  force  and 
put  you  back  in  bed  where  you  belong,"  she  said 
indignantly,  and  turned  to  throw  open  the  door. 

Though  he  remained  leaning  heavily  on  the 
chair,  he  spoke  slowly :  "  If  you  do — I  swear  to  you 
—that  I  will  struggle  against  them — until  every 
wound  on  me  starts  open." 

She  took  her  hand  from  the  door,  but  only  to 
make  of  her  rounded  arms  a  bar  across  it,  defying 
him: 

"You  would  not  struggle  against  me." 

Holding  to  the  chair-back  he  stood  looking  at 
her,  at  first  in  surprise,  then  with  weary  patience. 

"I  should  have  remembered,"  he  said,  "that  it 
would  be  a  part  of  your  high  breeding  not  to  let  me 
feel  that  I  had  been  a  burden  on  your  hospitality." 

Of  one  color  were  her -cheeks  and  her  rose-red 
kirtle,  as  she  shaped  her  unskilled  lips  to  plead 
ing.  "  It  was  not  Helvin  who  ordered  them  to 
bring  you  here.  It  was  I  who  asked  it.  ...  I 
shared  the  care  of  you  with  my  women  .  .  .  and 
found  it  ...  no  burden." 

Lowered  for  the  first  time  was  the  lofty  banner 
of  her  head.  His  gaze  rested  on  it  wistfully  even 
while  he  continued  his  slow  progress  towards  the 
door. 

249 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"My  wounds  have  made  you  wondrous  kind," 
he  said.  "  I  have  heard  it  told  that  such  crimson 
mouths,  for  all  that  they  are  tongueless,  are  full 
of  eloquence  for  women.  But  you  see  that  they 
are  healing  fast.  It  would  not  last  much  longer 
anyway.  Let  me  go  while  I  can." 

Pain  sharpened  his  voice,  yet  his  hand  was  in 
every  way  gentle  when  he  put  aside  the  living  bar 
that  dared  not  tempt  his  weakness  by  overmuch 
resistance. 

Almost  in  fear  she  looked  up  at  him.  "Rand- 
var!  Has  it  happened  that  this  has  slain  your 
love  for  me?" 

He  touched  with  his  lips  the  wrist  he  had  taken. 
"  I  wish  it  had  done  so ;  then  I  should  dare  to  stay 
and  sun  myself,  and  take  it  easily  when,  to-mor 
row  or  the  day  after,  the  skies  change  and  you 
storm  me  forth  w7ith  hard  words— 

"Never,  my  loved  one!  Never  again!"  April- 
faced,  she  leaned  towards  him.  "It  will  always 
be  good  weather  for  you  now.  Always!  You  a 
song-maker,  and  doubt  the  summer  because  of  a 
storm  or  two!" 

"  It  must  be  because  I  am  a  song-maker  that 
I  have  had  faith  in  so  many  things,"  he  answered. 
"It  is  mercy  I  am  asking  of  you,  Brynhild.  You 
have  so  much  for  my  body, — have  a  little  for  my 
mind,  that  since  first  I  saw  you  has  been  a  leaf  in 

250 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

the  wind  of  your  moods.  Let  me  go  while  I  can, 
before  your  fairness  knits  the  net  once  more 
around  me." 

As  gently  as  might  be,  he  gathered  her  other 
wrist  into  his  clasp,  and  holding  the  two  in  one 
hand,  laid  the  other  on  the  door.  She  dared  not 
struggle  with  him.  But  one  way  was  left  her. 
Light  as  the  apple -blossoms  float  down,  she  drifted 
to  her  knees. 

"My  friend,  you  prayed  me  once  to  let  you  stay 
because  to  you  it  meant  so  much  and  to  me — you 
thought — it  meant  so  little.  I  beg  the  boon  back 
from  you.  Stay,  because  it  will  be  easy  to  you 
who  are  so  generous  in  giving,  and  to  me  it  would 
be  so  hard  to  give  you  up." 

As  he  had  done  that  day  in  the  road,  he  passed 
his  hands  before  his  eyes  to  clear  them. 

"This — and  my  blood  on  Eric's  blade — are  the 
two  last  sights  that  ever  I  thought  to  see,"  he 
murmured.  "Yet  since  that  one  was  true,  it 
may  be  that  this  other  is."  Looking  down  at  her, 
a  faint  smile  touched  his  mouth.  "  What  dream- 
mockery  to  see  you  so, — you  who  twist  me  between 
your  fingers  like  any  willow  out  of  the  forest! 
But  your  work  will  seem  better  to  you  if  you  have 
your  way  in  this.  Until  your  mind  changes,  then !" 

Releasing  her,  he  sat  down  on  the  stool  beside 
the  door,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  head  on  his 

17  25J 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

hands.  From  kneeling,  she  sank  into  a  sitting 
posture  on  the  rush-strewn  floor  beside  him,  glad 
perhaps  to  hide  her  face  against  his  sleeve.  It 
was  he  who  kept  their  footing  against  the  sway 
ing  shimmering  dream-river  that  seemed  to  rise 
about  them,  and  forded  it  at  last  to  the  shore  of 
reality. 

"Yet  what  right  have  I  to  a  place  in  your  hall, 
who  have  made  myself  an  outlaw?" 

Stifling  a  sigh,  she  walked  on  land  again. 

"It  is  unlikely  that  you  will  be  banished.  In 
the  teeth  of  all  the  lawmen,  Helvin  has  refused  it. 
And  while  it  may  not  turn  out  to  your  honor  with 
the  advice-givers,  I  think  the  Jarl  will  push  it 
through  by  boldness.  To-day,  he  rode  out  him 
self  to  seek  counsel  from  Flokki  of  Iceland,  who 
is  the  greatest  man  for  bending  the  law  to  his 
wishes.  I  might  be  tempted  to  reproach  you  for 
doing  this  joy  to  your  foe,  my  friend,  if  I  did  not 
guess  that  I  have  some  blame  for  your  temper." 

Perhaps  she  wanted  to  lure  him  into  taking  her 
part  against  herself,  but  he  did  not  even  see  the 
bait.  Through  the  hands  still  supporting  his  head, 
he  spoke  absently. 

"You  had  not  the  most  share  in  the  matter, 
Jarl's  sister.  For  the  hardships  he  dragged  me 
under  with  Helvin,  I  should  have  followed  up 
Olaf;  and  on  top  of  that,  there  was  the  trap  he 

252 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

baited  with  Eric.     Eric !     Who  would  have   be 
lieved  a  false  heart  grew  in  the  boy!" 

Looking  up  through  his  hands,  she  saw  how 
bitter  his  mouth  had  become.  Of  a  sudden  she 
rose  and  pressed  her  lips  to  it,  as  one  who  would 
draw  poison  from  a  wound. 

"The  little  viper!  Never  think  of  him!"  she 
breathed. 

Whether  it  changed  his  look  she  did  not  see,  for 
even  more  quickly  she  dropped  back  and  hid  her 
eyes  upon  his  arm.  Only  she  knew  that  he  sat  a 
long  time  looking  down  at  her. 

"At  least  you  cannot  take  the  memory  of  that 
from  me.  Give  you  thanks  for  that!"  he  said  at 
last,  and  for  an  instant  she  felt  the  touch  of  his 
lips  upon  her  hair.  But  he  ventured  no  further 
caress.  When  he  spoke  again,  she  knew  that  his 
gaze  had  gone  back  to  the  rush-strewn  floor. 

"What  I  should  do  is  to  be  grateful  that  I  was 
hindered  from  killing  the  boy.  To  have  had  that 
news  come  to  Erna's  ears —  She  felt  the  muscles 
harden  in  his  arm  with  the  clinching  of  his  fist. 
Then  he  went  on  somewhat  anxiously:  "Yet  she 
would  like  his  deed  little  better.  I  hope  there  is 
no  likelihood  of  her  hearing  of  it.  It  seems  that 
he  has  not  fled  to  the  forest,  since  you  say  he  was 
before  the  lawmen.  I  suppose  Olaf  has  taken  him 
under  his  safeguard?" 

253 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

She  shook  her  head  without  raising  it.  "You 
do  not  know  Thorgrim's  son,  if  you  think  he 
troubles  himself  about  a  tool  after  it  has  served 
his  purpose.  In  the  first  place,  he  prevented  the 
boy  from  running  away  that  he  might  send  him 
as  a  witness  before  the  lawmen.  Then,  when  that 
had  been  accomplished,  he  resigned  him  willingly 
to  Kelvin's  demand.  Nothing  has  been  done  to 
him  as  yet,  for  it  was  not  until  to-day  that  the 
herb-woman  would  say  how 'it  was  like  to  go  with 
your  life — so  has  your  heart-wound  puzzled  every 
one — but  to-morrow  they  are  to  take  him  out  and 
hew  off  his  hand—  She  broke  off  in  a  gasp,  as 
the  Songsmith 's  fingers  crushed  her  arm  unknow 
ingly. 

"Ill  will  it  be,  then!  Do  they  forget  that  he  is 
but  a  child?" 

The  eyes  which  she  lifted  to  his  were  Valkyria's 
eyes,  that  would  look  without  flinching  on  the 
torture  of  a  friend's  foe. 

"Now  you  argue  like  the  goddess  Frigg  when, 
because  it  was  young,  she  allowed  the  mistletoe- 
bush  to  become  the  shaft  which  killed  Balder  the 
Beautiful.  If  you  had  got  your  death  from  the 
boy,  Helvin  would  have  had  him  slain, — and  it 
would  have  been  rightly  done!" 

The  song-maker's  broad  shoulders  shrugged  as 
once  more  he  leaned  forward  upon  his  knees. 

254 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

"Though  it  may  sound  less  well  to  your  ears, 
Jarl's  sister,"  he  said  dryly,  "the  true  reason 
why  Helvin  is  set  against  the  boy  is  because  the 
young  one  was  the  hinderance  in  the  way  of  my 
killing  Olaf.  Is  it  also  out  of  love  towards  me 
that  Eric's  friends  have  failed  to  help  him?  Or 
is  it  another  reason  that  no  one  dares  to  go  against 
the  Jarl's  pleasure?" 

"  It  might  be  that  and  yet  be  no  shame  to 
their  manhood,"  she  answered  suddenly,  and  put 
back  the  clustering  masses  of  her  hair  to  look 
at  him  with  earnestness.  "An  unheard-of  thing 
is  his  temper  becoming,  Randvar!  The  even 
ing  after  the  duel,  he  rode  out  to  Mord's  house 
and  went  in  where  Olaf  lay  and  stood  for  the 
space  of  two  candle-burnings  staring  down  at  him, 
without  speaking,  only  tearing  his  mantle  between 
his  teeth.  And  yesterday  when  he  was  here,  he 
put  to  me  the  most  unexpected  question.  He 
asked  me  if  ever  I  saw  our  father  in  my  sleep,  or 
in  dark  corners.  And  when  I  said, '  By  no  means,' 
he  laughed — cold  trickled  over  me  at  the  sound  !— 
and  muttered  that  Starkad  showed  favoritism  in 
giving  all  the  visits  to  him.  Heard  you  ever  any 
thing  to  equal  that  in  strangeness?" 

"Never,"  the  song  -  maker  assented.  But  he 
said  no  more,  nor  moved  so  much  as  his  bent 
shoulders.  After  a  glance  up  at  him,  she  began 

255 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

studying  his  face  from  the  ambush  of  her  hair,  and 
sank  so  deep  in  musing  that  she  started  when  he 
spoke. 

"Where  have  they  caged  the  cub?" 

"  In  that  storehouse  loft,  which  has  been  thought 
bad  enough  to  be  a  prison  since  a  guard  killed 
another  one  there  by  pushing  him  through  the 
floor-hole  so  that  he  drowned  in  the  beer-vat  be 
low."  She  came  further  out  of  her  study  to  slip 
her  hand  into  his,  where  it  hung  between  his  knees. 
"  Laugh  if  you  will,  my  friend,  still  I  shall  hold  it 
for  true  that  no  one  has  freed  the  little  snake  be 
cause  no  man  will  lift  a  finger  for  one  who  has 
injured  you.  Only  bolts  keep  the  door — no  guard 
stands  watch  there — any  could  have  helped  him 
if, they  had  a  mind." 

He  did  laugh,  shortly  and  suddenly ;  then  press 
ing  her  hand,  he  released  it  and  stood  up. 

"  By  this  time,  the  Jarl  will  have  returned  from 
Flokki's;  and  I  will  go  to  him."  As  she  rose  swift 
ly,  he  lifted  one  of  her  silken  braids  and  laid  it 
lightly  across  her  lips.  "Noble  maiden,  I  am  a 
wild  hawk  that  has  been  caged  over- long.  Let  me 
stretch  my  wings,  and  I  shall  come  back  all  the 
more  gladly, — if  so  be  your  kind  mood  lasts  until 
to-morrow." 

Above  the  shining  bar  of  her  hair,  her  color 
flamed  so  brightly  that  she  was  fain  to  extinguish 

256 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

it  upon  his  breast.  Her  words  came  to  him 
faintly : 

"  Will  you  believe,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have 
made  this  plan, — that  to-morrow  shall  be  our  wed 
ding-day?" 

He  stood  a  long  time  looking  down  at  her,  then 
said  slowly:  "If — after  this — you  fail  me,  I  shall 
lose  the  wish  to  live." 

"  If  ever  I  fail  you  again,  I  give  you  leave  to 
die,"  she  answered. 

Then  she  let  him  take  from  her  mouth  a  kiss  of 
farewell;  she  clasped  behind  her  the  hands  that 
wished  to  hold  him  back,  and  let  him  go  forth  into 
the  starlit  night. 


XX 

'Need  proves  a  friend" 

— Northern  saying. 

^TEEP  as  the  way  to  Heaven  seemed 
the  steps  of  the  prison  loft  as  Rand- 
var  dragged  himself  up  them  ;  yet  he 
dared  not  pause  on  the  unsheltered 
Handing,  but  goaded  his  nerveless 
fingers  on  to  their  task  of  drawing  the  bolts. 
Whining,  the  rusty  bars  yielded,  and  he  staggered 
into  the  musty  gloom.  Closing  the  door  behind 
him,  he  leaned  against  it  to  recover  his  breath. 

Across  every  corner  of  the  huge  one-windowed 
room,  the  spider  Night  had  woven  dense  shadows. 
Like  a  small  blue  fly  in  the  meshes  of  a  black  web, 
Eric  was  curled  upon  the  straw-littered  floor, — a 
forlorn  and  crumpled  fly  with  limp  legs  and  gaudy 
wings  adroop.  To  stare  at  the  opening  door,  he 
started  up;  but  recognizing  the  Songsmith  in  the 
wink  of  time  that  the  tall  form  was  silhouetted 
against  the  starlight,  he  tipped  over  again,  hiding 
his  face  upon  the  straw  as  though  he  would  burrow 
into  it,  while  his  voice  rose  in  a  muffled  wail: 

258 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

"Oh,  foster-brother,  do  not  be  angry  with  me! 
Do  not  be  angry  with  me!" 

"Come  here  —  and  give  me  your  shoulder  —  to 
that  bench  yonder,"  Randvar  commanded  between 
breaths. 

When  it  had  been  twice  repeated,  the  boy  obeyed 
shrinkingly.  As  soon  as  he  felt  the  weight  lighten 
on  his  shoulder,  he  would  have  drawn  back  into 
the  darkness  again  if  the  hand  had  not  slipped 
down  his  arm  to  his  wrist  and  held  him.  He 
curved  his  other  arm  before  his  face,  then,  and  be 
gan  to  wail  anew. 

"  I  beseech  you  not  to  scold  me!  I  have  had  all 
the  blame  that  I  can  stand!" 

"I  am  not  going  to  scold  you,"  the  song-maker 
said  wearily.  His  head  had  fallen  back  heavily 
against  the  wall  behind  him,  and  his  eyes  were 
shut.  "  It  has  happened  to  older  people  than  you 
to  think  that  the  man  who  gives  them  hard  words 
is  their  foe  and  the  man  who  smiles  on  them  is 
their  friend.  If  you  have  not  found  out  yet  that 
you  behaved  badly,  no  good  is  to  be  had  from  talk 
ing  about  it." 

The  boy  burrowed  further  into  the  bend  of  his 
arm. 

"I  hateOlaf,"  he  sobbed. 

"It  is  likely  that  you  do  now,  since  he  has 
stopped  making  much  of  you,"  the  Songsmith 

259 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

returned  sternly,  "still  it  should  be  remembered 
for  a  while  longer  that  you  thought  enough  of  him 
once  to  try  to  take  my  life  for  his  sake." 

Wriggling,  the  culprit  tried  hard  to  pull  away. 
"Now  you  are  scolding  me,  though  you  said  you 
would  not.  You  know  I  did  not  mean  to  stab 
you." 

His  foster  -  brother  shook  the  arm  he  held. 
"Never  lie  to  me,  Eric!" 

"  I  am  not  lying  to  you,"  Eric  lifted  up  his  voice 
and  wept.  "  Never  did  I  lie  to  you  in  my  life,— 
not  even  though  I  had  meddled  with  your  skin- 
boat  and  you  were  trimming  a  willow  switch  as 
you  asked  me  about  it.  If  you  had  any  sense,  you 
would  guess  that  it  had  gone  out  of  my  mind  that 
I  was  holding  a  knife.  I  thought  I  was  striking 
you  with  my  fist, — and  for  that  you  cannot  throw 
blame  on  me  for  you  have  told  me  yourself  that 
a  man  must  be  loyal  to  the  lord  he  has  chosen,  and 
Olaf  says  the  Devil  gets  all  pages  who  do  not  fight 
for  their  masters.  I  thought  that  if  I  attacked 
you,  you  would  turn  on  me,  and  he  would  get  a 
chance  to  recover  himself  and— 

The  Songsmith  brought  him  nearer  by  the  wrist 
he  held,  and  drew  down  with  his  other  hand  the 
arm  shielding  the  woe-begone  face. 

"  Say  that  over  again,  Eric,  while  I  look  in  your 
eyes." 

260 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

They  were  swollen  eyes,  and  now  resentful  and 
now  beseeching,  but  clear  as  blue  lakes  to  show  what 
lay  under  them.  Before  the  explanation  was  half 
repeated,  his  foster-brother  showed  that  he  ac 
cepted  it  by  drawing  him  into  a  close  embrace 
and  holding  him  so.  Feeling  the  encircling  arm 
change  from  a  shackle  to  a  caress,  the  boy  subsided 
on  the  broad  shoulder  and  wept  there  unrestrain 
edly. 

"Tell  them  that  you  do  not  blame  me,  so  they 
will  not  look  at  me  the  way  they  did.  You  can 
not  imagine  how  they  behaved!  When  I  met 
some  of  my  best  friends  out  of  Brynhild's  house, 
not  a  maiden  of  them  would  speak  to  me.  And 
old  Visbur  said  that  the  forest  bred  traitors  like 
acorns,  and  that  they  ought  to  hang  like  acorns 
on  the  trees;  and  his  eyes — you  could  not  bring 
before  your  mind  how  his  eyes  looked!" 

"I  wish  I  could  not!"  the  song-maker  muttered, 
and  shook  himself  as  though  he  were  a  baited  bear 
and  his  memories  sharp-toothed  hounds.  But  the 
boy  pressed  harder  against  him. 

"You  must  not  go  until  you  promise  me  your 
help.  The  guards  will  act  in  any  way  you  say,— 
tell  them  to  let  me  go  back  to  the  Tower.  If  you 
knew  how  much  I  want  to  see  my  mother  and 
Snowf rid !  —  and  Lame  Forsek  and  the  others— 
who  look  at  me  as  if  they  thought  well  of  me.  I 

261 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

cannot  bear  to  be  looked  at  the  other  way.  My 
heart  will  break  if  I  have  to  see  one  of  these  hate 
ful  court-people  again.  Until  I  get  to  be  a  man, 
when  I  shall  come  back  and  kill  Olaf  and—  Fos 
ter-brother,  you  are  not  going  to  refuse  me?" 

He  abandoned  vengeance  to  press  his  face 
coaxingly  against  the  Songsmith 's,  and  try  to  fore 
stall  the  answer  he  read  there. 

"I  beg  it  of  you!  You  wanted  me  to  go  back 
to  see  Erna, — and  now  I  will  do  everything  she 
asks  of  me.  Foster-brother,  listen !  I  will  not  once 
forget  to  chop  the  wood  or  fetch  the  water.  I — 
Listen!  If  I  do,  she  can  tell  you  and  you  can— 

"What  I  am  trying  to  say,"  the  Songsmith 
made  himself  heard  at  last,  "is  that  my  words 
would  have  no  weight  at  all  with  the  guards. 
Even  the  Jarl's  favor  I  dare  not  lean  on  this  time- 
Stand  still!  I  am  not  saying  it  to  frighten  you, 
only  to  show  you  that  carefulness  is  necessary. 
The  worst  part  of  your  bad  fortune  is  past,  for  I 
have  already  planned  it  that  you  are  to  slip  away 
to  -  night.  Yonder  is  the  door  with  the  bolts 
drawn,  and  beyond  the  court  lies  an  open  road  to 
the  forest.  Some  starlight  is  in  the  court -yard, 
but  there  are  also  many  trees;  and  you  have 
learned  Skraelling  tricks  of  skulking.  The  night 
has  only  just  passed  its  noon,  so  you  are  un 
likely  to  see  any  one, — but  a  beggar  snoring  on 

262 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

the  steps  of  the  women's  house.  You  can  avoid 
the  sentinels  at  the  gates  by  getting  over  the  wall 
where  the  Jarl's  stable  shadows  it.  After  you  are 
once  in  the  road,  you  know  what  to  do  as  well  as 
I.  Luck  go  with  you!" 

Before  the  last  word  was  out,  the  boy  had 
reached  the  door;  but  the  impulse  was  not  quite 
strong  enough  to  carry  him  through  it.  Digging 
his  boot-toe  into  the  straw,  he  hesitated,  squirm 
ing  in  evident  anguish  of  mind. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  here  and  be  their  pris 
oner  instead  of  me?"  he  faltered. 

A  light  that  was  not  starlight  made  the  Song- 
smith's  white  face  bright  as  he  turned  it  towards 
him.  "You  show  in  this  that  you  have  a  good 
heart,  little  comrade;  but  you  need  not  trouble 
yourself.  I  do  not  intend  that  any  one  shall  know 
that  I  have  been  here.  As  soon  as  you  have  had 
time  to  get  clear  of  the  court-yard,  I  shall  go  back 
and  lie  down  under  a  tree,  and  pretend  that  I  have 
been  swooning  there  all  night." 

Again  the  boy  laid  a  hand  on  the  door;  then 
again  he  turned, — and  this  time  he  came  all  the 
way  back  and  threw  his  arms  about  his  foster- 
brother's  neck  in  a  strangling  hug.  From  some 
where  under  the  curly  mop  came  the  broken  whis 
per: 

"Say  that  you  think  as  much  of  me  as  ever." 
263 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Tousling  the  yellow  head  in  the  old  familiar 
caress,  his  foster-brother  gave  him  the  desired 
assurance  and  tried  to  disengage  himself;  but  Eric 
clung  burrlike. 

"  Never  did  I  love  Olaf  one-half  as  well  as  you,— 
may  the  Giant  take  me  if  I  did!  When  are  you 
coming  back  to  the  Tower?  Olaf  says  that  the 
Jarl  behaves  so  badly  towards  you  that  one  of 
you  will  surely  kill  the  other,  if  you  do  not  run 
away." 

"  If  I  were  not  unwilling  to  pay  compliments  to 
Olaf,  I  should  say  that  truth  came  out  of  his 
mouth,"  the  song-maker  muttered;  then  he  put 
the  boy  from  him  firmly.  "  Do  you  want  to  linger 
so  long  that  the  thralls  will  be  waking  up  and 
coming  out  to  catch  you?" 

Eric  made  one  dash  at  his  foster-brother's  cheek, 
flattening  his  face  against  it,  and  was  gone  through 
the  narrowest  opening  of  the  door. 

Like  the  patter  of  spring  rain,  the  tap  of  his  feet 
on  the  steps  came  back  to  the  Songsmith.  Smil 
ing  faintly  he  followed  him  with  his  fancy,  pictured 
him  holding  himself  down  to  creep  across  the  court, 
then  letting  himself  out  as  he  reached  the  sheltered 
lane,  snuffing  in  freedom  until  he  broke  and  ran— 
ran — ran  like  a  homeward-turned  horse. 

"  It  will  be  some  time  before  /  shall  be  able  to 
run,"  he  reflected  ruefully,  and  began  to  realize 

264 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

how  exhausted  he  was  now  that  excitement  like 
a  prop  had  fallen  from  under  him.  He  shook  his 
knees  irritably. 

"  Troll  take  a  man's  legs,  that  will  go  back  upon 
him  at  such  a  time  as  this!"  he  muttered.  "  If  I 
do  not  look  out,  I  shall  founder  here.  .  .  .  He  has 
had  time  now  to  gain  the  lane.  ...  I  wish  I  knew 
if  the  room  is  really  darkening,  as  it  seems,  or  if 
it  is  only  a  trick  of  my  eyes!"  He  tried  in  vain 
with  groping  hands  to  sweep  the  shadows  from 
before  him,  then  to  shake  off  the  heaviness  settling 
on  him. 

"  A  grim  jest  that  would  be,  to  be  caught  within 
three  strides  of  an  unbarred  door!"  he  told  him 
self  with  an  impulse  of  anger.  Again  he  shook 
off  the  heaviness,  desperately;  summoning  all  his 
strength,  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

One  step  he  made,  and  part  of  another;  then 
his  knees  sank  under  him  as  under  a  crushing 
weight ;  his  body  sank  until  his  head  rested  on  the 
floor, — then  it  seemed  that  the  floor  began  to  sink! 
After  that,  he  let  the  Fates  have  their  way. 


XXI 


"  What  must  be  is  sure  to  happen  " 

— Northern  saying. 

OMING  back  to  his  senses,  the  Song- 
smith  lay  awhile  adjusting  his  mem 
ory.  .  .  .  Once,  he  had  fallen  asleep 
on  bloody  grass  and  wakened  amid 
the  silken  fragrance  of  the  women's 
house.  .  .  .  Here  was  another  change.  .  .  .  Cob- 
webbed  rafters  and  bare  walls  and  heavy  air  as 
close  as  the  grave.  He  snuffed  up  a  resentful 
breath  of  it — then  forgot  to  exhale  in  the  sudden 
ly  added  consciousness  that  some  one  was  gazing 
at  him.  Turning  his  head,  his  eyes  met  gray  eyes 
staring  at  him  from  a  jungle  of  blood-colored  hair. 
On  the  bench  to  which  the  song-maker  had  been 
helped  the  night  before,  Helvin  Jarl  was  now  sitting, 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  hands  dropped  between 
to  hold  the  sword  with  which  he  was  stirring  and 
prodding  the  straw  of  the  floor.  He  laid  the  flat 
of  the  blade  against  Randvar's  breast  as  the  Song- 
smith  started  up,  forcing  him  gently  back. 

"Lie  still.     No  one  is   looking  to  see  whether 
266 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

we  go  through  with  the  foolish  rules  which  some 
simpleton  has  laid  down.  I  have  sent  the  guards 
below."  He  took  the  blade  away  as  he  felt  the 
song-maker  yield  to  its  pressure,  sheathing  it  as 
he  went  on:  "Their  state  was  laughable,  between 
not  knowing  whether  they  should  get  my  wrath 
because  they  had  not  at  once  carried  you  out  of 
here,  or  because  they  had  not  at  once  slain  you. 
See  how  they  have  tried  to  trim  both  sides  of  their 
sail  to  the  wind,  by  making  you  comfortable  and 
at  the  same  time  holding  you  prisoner." 

He  nodded  floorward,  and  Randvar  noticed  for 
the  first  time  that  a  charger  of  food  and  drink 
stood  within  reach  of  his  hand,  that  a  cushion  had 
been  put  under  his  head  and  a  cloak  spread  over 
him.  At  another  time  he  might  have  smiled. 
Now  his  gaze  came  back  with  unrelieved  gravity 
to  the  Jarl's  face  that  in  some  way  was  strange  to 
him. 

"Which  kind  of  behavior  is  most  to  your  mind, 
lord?"  he  asked. 

Clasping  his  hands  behind  his  head,  Helvin  leaned 
back  against  the  wall  and  returned  his  look  som 
brely. 

"  I  am  only  just  getting  to  know  surely,  com 
rade.  When  they  brought  me  word  this  morning 
that  you  had  set  free  the  brat  who  stepped  between 
Olaf  and  death,  there  was  a  spell  when  my  fingers 

,8  267 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

itched  for  your  throat.  You  can  see  that  I  came 
to  you  straight  out  of  the  hands  of  my  shoe-boy." 
He  lifted  one  of  his  legs  to  show  that  the  silk  bands 
which  should  have  been  wound  around  it  were  still 
hanging.  "  If  the  sight  of  your  peaceful  sleep  had 
not  fallen  coolingly  upon  my  hot  humor,  there  is 
a  likelihood  that  .  .  .  that  ..."  Though  his  eyes 
remained  upon  the  song -maker,  they  set  in  a 
vacant  stare.  "You  would  be  lying  there  like  an 
empty  wine-skin  .  .  .  and  I  should  be  raving  be 
side  you,  trying  to  put  back  the  wine  I  had  spilled 
.  .  .  seeing  it  creep  away  towards  the  cracks  .  .  . 
feeling  it  slip  slimy  through  my  fingers.  .  .  .  Ah!" 

The  hand  that  had  gone  out  groping  before  him 
he  dashed  against  his  eyes  as  though  to  break  the 
spell  that  bound  them,  springing  to  his  feet  with 
a  wild  cry. 

"  Why  do  I  torture  myself  with  what  is  not  true  ? 
I  have  not  slain  you.  You  are  alive,  for  all  that 
you  have  the  color  of  a  dead  man.  Speak  to  me! 
Drive  away  this  madness!" 

White  as  the  dead  the  song-maker  was,  as  much 
from  increasing  alarm  as  from  the  weakness  of 
his  blood -drained  body;  yet  he  managed  to  lift  him 
self  to  his  knees  and  then  to  his  feet,  to  stand 
steadying  himself  against  the  wall.  Only  his 
voice  failed  to  obey  his  summons,  so  that  he  was 
glad  to  have  the  pause  filled  by  the  thundering 

268 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

tread  of  a  man  hurrying  up  the  steps.  In  the 
doorway  appeared  a  guard,  his  spear  gripped  in 
his  hand. 

"Jarl,  was  it  for  help  you  cried  out?"  he  de 
manded. 

A  moment  Starkad's  son  held  his  breath,  as 
though  the  nethermost  deeps  of  his  mind  must  be 
dredged  for  adequate  words, — then  all  words  seem 
ed  to  prove  inadequate.  Snatching  a  wine-flagon 
from  the  tray,  he  hurled  it  at  the  intruder's  head. 
The  force  with  which  it  crashed  against  the  door 
frame  suggested  what  it  would  have  done  to  the 
mark  that  it  missed. 

How  the  guardsman  took  his  leave,  Randvar 
did  not  see.  Dropping  down  upon  the  bench,  he 
burst  into  high-keyed  laughter. 

"Help — against — me!"  he  gasped,  and  leaned 
there  laughing  until  Kelvin's  hand  fell  upon  his 
shoulder  and  shook  him  with  friendly  severity. 

"Stop!  That  is  the  end  of  such  laughter  that 
weeping  follows  it.  Stop!  Drink  this." 

The  pressure  of  a  cup  against  his  lip  compelled 
obedience,  and  the  draught  brought  some  of  his 
strength  back  to  him;  but  the  Jarl's  remained  the 
dominating  spirit. 

"  More  of  that  is  needed,  and  food  in  your  stom 
ach.  I  will  be  your  dish-bearer  for  a  change,"  he 
said,  and  himself  dropped  down  cross-legged  on 

269 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

the  straw  beside  the  charger  that  he  might  pass 
up  its  contents. 

Patient  as  the  hand  of  a  woman,  his  hand  that 
had  sped  the  missile  ministered  now  to  his  friend. 
Now  and  again,  over  crust  or  bone,  Randvar  met 
in  the  gray  eyes  a  brooding  tenderness  that  tight 
ened  the  muscles  around  his  heart. 

It  was  a  relief  when  Kelvin's  mind  began  to 
turn  away  to  musing,  drawing  him  over  upon  his 
elbow  to  lie  staring  into  the  empty  cup  he  held, 
like  a  wizard  reading  fortunes  in  the  wine-dregs. 
Dreamy  as  the  note  of  droning  bees,  his  voice 
sounded  when  presently  he  began  to  muse  aloud. 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  have  found  some  excuse 
to  give  drink  to  Olaf .  .  .  .  Every  moment  I  stood  by 
him,  I  was  wondering  if  there  was  not  some  way. 
...  It  would  not  have  been  necessary  to  kill  him. 
One  drop  of  the  right  herb-juice  would  be  enough 
to  addle  his  wits  until  he  could  pass  for  mad. 
Whatever  he  betrayed,  I  should  have  only  to  shrug 
my  shoulders  and  tap  my  head.  Conceive  of  his 
rage!  It  would  have  been  sport  for  a  king!" 

As  a  dog  over  a  sweet  bone,  he  put  out  the 
tip  of  his  tongue  and  noiselessly  licked  his  lips. 
Wincing,  Randvar  spoke  hastily: 

"Jarl,  this  is  an  unprofitable  mood!  Recall  it 
to  your  mind  that  Olaf  knows  nothing  to  betray." 

From  the  folds  of  strange  craftiness  that  had 
270 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

been  drawing  over  them,  Kelvin's  eyes  looked  up 
dazedly.  Then — slowly — the  gaze  that  he  met 
steadied  the  flickering  torch  of  his  reason. 

"Why,  that  is  true,"  he  admitted.  "I  forgot 
that  he  had  not  yet  found  the  carrion  which  his 
vulture-scent  warned  him  of.  ...  Still  in  the  Fates' 
hands  is  that  happening.  .  .  .  Only  I  can  see  it  com 
ing  .  .  .  slipping  through  their  bony  fingers.  .  .  ." 
In  a  mutter  his  voice  died  away.  Stretched  at 
full  length  he  lay  in  brooding  reverie,  so  sombre  a 
figure  that  the  cup  of  dregs  took  on  new  sugges- 
tiveness. 

The  song-maker  began  to  speak  quietly,  gazing 
out  through  the  open  door  where  the  rosy  snow 
of  blossoming  crab-trees  was  banked  against  the 
blue  sky,  and  sun  like  golden  wine  steeped  all  the 
noonday  world. 

"  It  befell  me  once  to  see  a  place  far  -west  of 
here  where  the  earth  had  shaken  and  rent  a  rock 
in  twain,  and  out  of  the  chasm  had  leaped  a  brook 
of  sweet  water.  So  I  think  this  happening  with 
Eric  must  have  shaken  me ;  for  like  a  well  of  water, 
a  song  rose  in  my  mind  while  I  slept, — a  song 
that  never  had  place  there  before." 

In  the  black  morass  of  his  musing  the  Jarl  turned, 
lured  by  the  will-o'-the-wisp  curiosity. 

"Never  have  I  heard  of  a  song  coming  in  that 
manner,"  he  said.  "Even  you  have  always  ham- 

271 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

mered  them  out  before.    Has  it  risen  as  far  as  your 
lips  so  that  any  of  it  could  brim  over  into  words?" 

Though  he  continued  to  gaze  out  at  the  blowing 
trees,  the  song-maker  bent  all  his  energies  upon 
his  story -weaving. 

"Little  of  it  has  yet  got  so  high  as  that.  But 
it  will  be  a  song  about  the  good  which  is  in  a  man 
even  though  his  actions  appear  to  be  evil.  .  .  .  Per 
haps  I  shall  say  that  he  had  Thor's  wrath  for  turn 
ing  to  the  Christ-faith;  and  the  Thunderer  cursed 
him  so  that  he  had  no  other  choice  than  to  do 
three  nithing  deeds,  even  though  his  mind  was 
noble.  .  .  .  He  will  have  a  friend — perhaps  it  will 
be  a  maiden — who  is  brave  enough  to  believe  in  his 
honorable  mind  in  spite  of  the  unworthiness  of 
his  actions.  ...  I  do  not  know  yet  what  those 
crimes  will  be  ...  except  that  the  first  must  be 
that  he  slays  a  kinsman— 

"Are — you — mad?"  Starkad's  son  said  slowly. 

With  a  start,  Randvar  turned.  That  the  Jarl 
had  risen  gradually  from  his  place  on  the  straw  he 
had  realized,  but  he  had  taken  it  for  interest. 
Now  for  the  first  time  he  looked  at  him.  Looking, 
he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"What  ails  you?" 

"Are  you  mad?"  -Helvin  repeated  his  slow 
question — "that  you  dare  to  make  my  life  into 
a  song  and  tell  it  to  my  face?" 

272 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

"  Your  life!"  the  Songsmith  breathed.  Then, 
even  angrily,  he  swept  the  suspicion  aside  with 
his  arm.  "Lord,  this  is  an  unbecoming  jest! 
You  must  know  that  such  a  song  would  be  true 
of  any  man  in  the  world." 

Futile  as  the  dash  of  waves  against  a  rock,  the 
words  fell  down  unheeded.  Unmoved  as  a  rock, 
Helvin  stood  gazing  at  him. 

"  Has  your  swooning  so  dulled  your  wits  that 
you  really  cannot  see  that  to  sing  that  song  in 
any  one's  hearing  would  be  to  tell  him  that  you 
saw  me  murder  my  father?" 

It  was  too  late  to  check  the  words,  though  Rand- 
var's  arm  had  shot  out  in  the  attempt.  Then  he 
stood  with  his  head  gripped  in  his  hands,  like  a 
man  into  whose  mind  a  terrible  truth  is  eating. 
As  though  he  had  forgotten  he  was  not  alone,  he 
started  when  Kelvin's  hand  fell  upon  his  breast 
and  pressed  him  back  upon  the  bench. 

A  strange  softness  had  come  into  the  voice  of 
Starkad's  son, — a  softness  from  which  the  ear  re 
coiled  as  the  hand  recoils  from  the  softness  of  de 
cayed  fruit. 

"  Now  I  see  by  your  dismay  at  finding  how  near 
you  had  come  to  betraying  me  that  it  was  neither 
madness  nor  treachery  that  prompted  you,  but 
the  awful  knowledge  working  in  you  as  the  awful 
guilt  has  worked  in  me.  Of  no  avail  to  remind 

273 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

myself  that  he  brought  it  on  his  own  head — that 
I  tried  to  keep  away  from  him  when  I  felt  it  com 
ing  but  he  forced  me  aside  with  him,  goaded  me 
until  I  could  no  more  keep  hold  of  myself  than 
my  shaking  hands  could  keep  hold  of  the  leash — It 
may  well  be  forgiven  you  that  you  shudder!  I 
might  have  known  that  soon  or  late  the  horror 
must  work  out  of  you.  Yet  am  I  glad  that  I 
trusted  you  as  long  as  was  possible.  Bear  that 
in  mind  about  me,  even  though  it  must  come  here 
to  an  end." 

With  quick  light  step  he  went  and  shut  the  door. 
The  sound  of  its  closing  fell  ominously  on  the  song- 
maker's  ears,  even  as  a  sense  of  smothering  fell 
on  him  with  the  passing  of  the  glimpse  of  sky. 
He  asked  slowly: 

"Is  it  my  death-warning  that  you  give  me?" 

Still  with  gentleness,  Starkad's  son  shook  his 
head.  "  Only  what  my  safety  has  need  of  I  take,— 
your  liberty.  I  will  give  you  the  comforts  and 
amusements  you  may  choose  yourself— 

"Amusements!"  Rough  scorn  was  in  the  gest 
ure  with  which  the  Songsmith  sprang  up.  "  Why 
do  you  talk  thus,  or  what  do  you  think  of  me? 
Do  you  forget  that  I  am  bred  to  no  lower  roof  than 
the  tent  of  the  sun?  Better  might  you  cage  an 
eagle  and  bid  him  be  content  with  a  branch  where 
before  he  had  ranged  the  forest!  But  I  belie  you 

274 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

in  thinking  it!  Your  sane  self  could  never  deal  so 
wrongfully  with  me, — and  you  must  be  sane!  You 
must  be  sane!  No  marks  of  the  curse  are  on  you. 
If  you  are  whole-minded,  listen  to  me!  For  this 
song,  I  take  the  Cross-oath  that  it  shall  never  pass 
my  lips — -even  in  solitude.  Nay,  I  will  dash  it  out 
of  my  memory!  By  your  love,  believe  me!" 

To  take  his  hand  and  press  and  stroke  it,  the 
Jarl  came  all  the  way  from  the  door. 

"Do  I  not  believe  you?"  he  said  caressingly. 
"  On  your  good  intentions  I  would  lay  down  my 
life.  It  is  luck  that  I  dare  not  trust  so  much  to. 
Did  I  not  for  a  dozen  years  hide  my  curse  so  that 
not  even  my  own  kin  dreamed  it  was  there,  only 
to  have  it  burst  out  like  smouldering  fire  at  last  ? 
So  would  your  uttermost  effort  be  set  at  naught 
with  such  a  secret  pressing  for  outlet— 

Almost  with  repulsion,  Randvar  freed  himself 
from  the  fondling  hands,  and  pushed  the  other 
away  that  he  might  front  him  squarely. 

"  Jarl,  as  God  hears  me,  I  would  sooner  that  you 
should  rage!  It  is  not  sound,  this  softness!  Face 
me  like  a  man — or  a  devil — or  anything  but  this! 
Listen,  and  I  will  lay  the  truth  before  you  so  that 
no  room  shall  be  left  for  doubt  to  stand  between 
us.  If  it  rouse  you  to  anger,  so  much  the  better! 
Lord,  I  never  knew  your  secret, — only  I  let  you 
think  so  because  in  no  other  way  would  you  be- 

275 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

lieve  in  my  love.  Of  that  hard  happening  at  the 
Pool,  I  saw  no  more  than  your  struggle  with  the 
hound.  That  you  loosed  him  on  Starkad,  I  be 
come  aware  for  the  first  time — " 

He  broke  off  because  it  was  plain  that  Helvin 
was  no  longer  listening.  He  stood  gazing  at  his 
song-maker,  his  eyes  retreating  deeper  and  deeper 
between  crafty  folds. 

He  said  as  to  himself:  "Love  of  life!  How 
strong  it  must  be  in  a  mightful  man  like  you!  .  .  . 
Doubly  strong  since  you  have  the  love  of  the 
maiden  that  is  dear  to  you.  ...  It  is  not  strange 
that  it  should  be  strong  enough  to  make  you  lie 
to  me — ' 

"Jarl!"  the  Songsmith  broke  in  fiercely, — but 
stopped,  conscious  that  his  voice  could  not  carry 
across  the  chasm  that  had  opened  between  them. 
Only  he  could  see  across  it  the  expression  with 
which  Helvin  was  regarding  him;  and  more  awful 
than  the  slyness  of  his  half -shut  eyes  was  the  gaze 
in  which  they  were  widening,  the  rapt  gaze  of  one 
who  sees  beyond  the  veil. 

"  Behold,  what  weird  powers  are  allotted  to  me!" 
he  said  under  his  breath.  "As  through  a  key-hole, 
I  can  see  through  this  lie  into  the  hall  of  What  Is 
To  Come.  The  next  time  fear  pricked  you,  you 
would  lie  again.  .  .  .  And  then  to  keep  off  fear,  you 
would  begin  to  act  lies.  .  .  .  And  after  that  it  would 

276 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

seem  so  natural  that  you  would  be  thinking  lies  .  .  . 
lies  .  .  .  lies  .  .  .  till,  like  a  worm-riddled  boat,  only 
your  fair  shape  would  be  left.  You  who  were  the 
most  unlying  and  bravest-hearted  of  men!  Rather 
than  you  shall  come  to  that  pass,  I  will  slay  you 
in  your  prime."  From  the  tangled  mass  of  blood- 
colored  hair,  his  wide  eyes  turned  slowly  to  the 
song-maker,  fired  with  crazy  purpose. 

Then  at  last  Randvar  understood  that  the  torch 
of  his  friend's  reason — so  often  flickering,  so  often 
burned  low — had  been  extinguished  forever.  To 
shut  out  the  sight  of  the  ghastly  ruin  it  left,  he 
hurled  himself  against  the  wall  and  flattened  his  face 
against  the  rough  boards.  Unreal  as  the  mouth 
ing  of  a  vision,  the  caressing  voice  came  to  him. 

"  Does  your  heart  speak  so  heavily  about  dying? 
Try  if  you  cannot  bring  your  mind  to  the  moun 
tain-top  on  which  my  mind  stands.  Then  shall  you 
see  that  what  looks  to  be  a  storm  -  sky  is  but  a 
cloud  over  one  valley,  while  sun  hallows  all  the 
rest.  I  kill  you  when  life  holds  much  for  you,  yet 
see  this!  I  keep  you  from  sin.  I  save  your  mem 
ory  fair  for  those  who  love  you.  Above  all,  I  pre 
serve  our  friendship  from  the  first  tremble  of  dis 
solution.  A  nobler  tree  than  our  friendship  never 
sprang  from  man-clay.  Would  you  rather  see  it 
withered  and  decayed  than  laid  low  in  all  its  glory 
by  one  axe-stroke?" 

277 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

As  from  a  man  on  the  rack,  a  cry  was  wrung 
from  the  song-maker:  "Oh,  Powers  of  Might,  must 
it  indeed  end  so?" 

Yet  softer  grew  the  voice  of  Starkad's  son,  till 
it  was  hushed  to  the  unearthly  stillness  of  a  forest- 
deep. 

"Alas,  how  has  the  love  of  woman  clouded  your 
eyes,  that  were  once  so  clear  to  see  the  truth !  Yet 
think  not  I  blame  the  weakness  of  your  flesh.  So 
shrinking  is  my  own  that,  plain  as  I  see  the  good 
ness  of  the  deed,  I  could  not  do  it  as  we  stand.  It 
is  the  working  of  fate  that  when  my  Other  Shape 
possesses  me,  I  know  no  qualms.  Until  I  come  in 
that  guise,  then!  Yet  before  we  part,  press  my 
hand  once  more  in  love.  Friends  clasp  when  they 
separate  for  a  day, — shall  souls  sunder  forever  and 
say  no  farewell?" 

It  was  a  strange  embrace ;  for  in  the  eyes  of 
Starkad's  son,  the  doomed  man  was  as  one  dead; 
and  to  the  mind  of  the  song-maker,  his  friend  had 
ceased  to  live.  Like  the  sound  of  a  clod  upon  a 
coffin-lid  was  the  sound  of  the  door  closing  for  the 
last  time  between  them. 


XXII 

Those  live  long  who  are  slain  by  words  alone  " 

— Northern  saying. 

|N  a  black  tide  night  had  risen,  sub 
merging  the  farther  windowless  end 
•of  the  great  loft,  blotting  out  the 
sides  and  corners  of  this  end.  Like 
,a  raft  of  light  afloat  upon  a  sea  of 
darkness  was  the  bright  square  which  the  moon 
let  fall  from  the  window  under  the  eaves ;  and  now 
and  again,  like  a  shipwrecked  mariner,  the  song- 
maker  rose  out  of  the  engulfing  blackness  and 
stood  in  the  light,  reviving  himself  with  the  sight 
of  the  infinite  wind-swept  sky.  Deeper  and  deep 
er  into  his  spirit  cut  the  thongs  of  the  trap  that 
had  caught  him.  Ranging  his  prison  up  and 
down — up  and  down — his  step  was  the  ceaseless 
hurried  tread  of  a  caged  tiger.  Higher  and  higher 
rose  the  frenzy  of  impulse  to  hurl  himself  against 
the  walls  and  batter  them  with  hands  and  feet 
and  head  till  they  or  he  gave  way. 

It  bent  him  at  last  to  a  thing  he  scorned,  drove 
279 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

him  against  his  will  to  the  door,  wrung  from  him 
a  hoarse  appeal. 

"Visbur!  I  cannot  meet  death  like  a  fox  in  his 
earth!  Let  me  fight  my  way  out  against  your 
sword.  It  will  come  to  the  same  in  the  end!" 

At  first  it  was  only  the  clang  of  a  spear  on  the 
landing  outside  that  answered,  so  slow  was  the 
old  guard's  voice  of  irony. 

"Why  do  you  talk  of  dying,  Rolf's  son?  Surely 
you  heard  the  Jarl  say  that  you  are  only  held  here 
to  appease  the  lawmen  who  want  your  punish 
ment  for  challenging  Olaf." 

Upon  the  cross-bar  of  the  door,  Randvar's  hand 
clinched.  He  had  forgotten  that  the  Jarl  would 
cloak  his  purpose  in  that  excuse.  After  a  moment 
Visbur  spoke  again,  this  time  with  biting  con 
tempt  : 

"You  need  not  think,  however,  that  I  put  more 
belief  than  you  do  in  that  reason.  A  witless  thing 
would  Kelvin's  justice  be,  to  forgive  you  two  at 
tacks  upon  his  life  and  then  imprison  you  only  for 
challenging  your  foe  or  loosing  a  worthless  cub. 
Likely  he  is  afraid  to  take  open  vengeance  because 
so  many  people  are  fooled  by  you  as  to  stand  your 
friends ;  and  therefore — even  to  me — he  makes  this 
poor  excuse,  and  adds  an  order  that  no  others  of 
his  household  shall  even  know  that  you  are  here, 
but  believe  that  it  is  still  Eric  that  I  hold  prisoner. 

280 


Pandvar   the   Songsmith 

He  might  make  himself  easy  that  no  guardsman 
who  saw  you  as  you  stood  over  your  chief's  wound 
ed  body,  with  a  bloody  sword  in  your  grip,  would 
lift  a  finger  to  save  you  from  torture." 

The  song-maker's  voice  sounded  strange  to  him 
self  as  it  came  out  of  the  darkness  in  which  he 
stood :  " Only  grant  me  to  die  a  man's  death!  You 
can  say  that  you  looked  in  to  see  how  it  went 
with  me,  and  I  tried  to  force  my  way  out,  and  you 
slew  me.  Only  that,  as  you  were  Rolf's  friend!" 

The  force  with  which  Visbur's  spear  came  down 
upon  the  landing  made  up  for  the  low  key  in  which 
he  was  obliged  to  pitch  his  voice. 

"  Do  you  know  how  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  behave  because  I  was  Rolf's  friend?  Because 
you  have  stained  an  honorable  name  with  traitor's 
deeds,  I  could  see  you  hanged  like  a  dog.  Never 
make  so  bold  as  to  speak  my  name  again."  Sud 
denly  his  feet  went  thundering  down  the  steps, 
and  his  spear  could  be  heard  striking  against  the 
side  of  the  house  as  he  took  up  a  new  post  below. 

As  suddenly,  Randvar  moved  away  from  the 
door;  and  with  his  coming  into  the  moonlight  it 
could  be  seen  that  he  held  his  sword  naked  in  his 
hand.  When  he  had  stood  awhile  looking  down 
at  it,  he  set  its  point  against  his  heart ;  and  then  he 
stood  for  another  space  with  musing  eyes  fixed  on 
the  gleaming  blade. 

281 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

To  slay  one's  self,  to  run  away  from  the  fight — 
how  could  that  be  aught  but  the  act  of  a  coward  ? 
And  yet  to  die  in  a  fit  of  mad  terror — with  shaking 
limbs  and  blanched  cheeks  and  reason  overthrown 
—was  that  a  death  for  a  brave  man?  Muscle  by 
muscle,  his  grip  on  his  sword  tightened;  and  then 
muscle  by  muscle  it  relaxed ;  and  he  stood  arguing 
it  over  and  over. 

Deaf  to  all  but  that  inner  strife,  he  heard  neither 
voices  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  nor  the  tread  of  feet 
ascending.  The  sound  which  he  had  been  dread 
ing  came  at  last  and  even  that  he  did  not  know. 
Like  the  rattling  of  the  casement  in  some  wander 
ing  breeze  it  befell  at  first,  and  then  slowly  it  re 
vealed  itself  for  the  fumbling  of  unsteady  fingers 
upon  a  bolt.  Only  when  a  river  of  moonlight 
streamed  across  the  floor  at  his  feet  did  he  start 
awake  and  turn  his  head. 

On  the  threshold,  dark  against  the  silver  night, 
stood  the  man  who  had  drawn  the  bolts.  A  hood 
concealed  his  face,  but  massive  shoulders  showed 
under  his  cloak;  and  over  one  of  them  could  be 
seen  the  mailed  form  of  Visbur  drawn  up  in  re 
spectful  salute.  Though  it  was  but  a  flash  of  time 
before  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  muffled  fig 
ure,  merging  its  dark  drapery  into  the  darkness  of 
the  wall,  the  song -maker  felt  no  doubt  of  the 
visitor's  identity.  Indeed,  almost  the  only  thing 

282 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

he  felt — amid  the  sudden  stiffening  of  his  muscles 
and  chilling  of  his  blood — was  wild  relief  that  for 
once  ••his  wits  stood  firm.  Pitched  to  utter  reck 
lessness,  he  flung  his  sword  from  him  as  at  sight  of 
the  bare  blade  a  smothered  cry  came  from  the 
other's  wrappings. 

"Have  no  fear  that  that  was  meant  for  you!" 
he  said,  and  his  strained  voice  vibrated  as  with 
discordant  laughter.  "Easier  were  it  to  be  slain 
by  you  than  to  bear  the  burden  of  being  your 
slayer.  Have  your  will  with— 

Like  over-strained  wire  his  voice  snapped,  and 
he  did  not  gather  up  the  ends.  Only  in  passing 
through  that  strip  of  shadow,  the  man  had  become 
another  man ;  and  it  was  the  Shepherd  Priest  who 
stood  revealed  in  the  moonlight. 

"I  bring  you  life  and  not  death,  my  son,"  he 
said  gently.  "  Nor  was  it  in  my  head  that  Helvin 
meant  to  push  the  matter  so  far,  even  though  his 
sister  told  me  that  it  had  stirred  his  unreasoning 
wrath  against  you  that  you  set  the  boy  free.  God 
is  to  be  twice  thanked  that  I  can  at  once  save  my 
lord  a  crime  and  you  a  wrong !  Yet  no  long  space 
is  given  me  to  do  it  in." 

Moving  on  up  the  room,  he  bent  and  swept  the 
straw  away  from  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Across 
the  long  cracks  of  the  boarding  showed  dimly  the 
lines  of  the  wooden  hatch  that  had  been  set  in 

ig  283 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

the  hole  through  which — in  the  days  when  the 
prison-loft  had  been  a  store -chamber — the  huge 
vat  below  had  been  refilled  each  brewing  season. 
Easily  as  one  pries  the  head  out  of  a  barrel,  he 
pried  up  the  clumsy  door  and  laid  it  back  from 
the  opening. 

Like  a  half-hanged  man  whose  body  has  been 
cut  down  in  time  but  whose  emotions  have  gone 
on  out  of  the  world  of  the  living,  the  Songsmith 
remained  gazing  at  him. 

"Even  if  it  had  happened  to  me  to  remember 
that  place,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  should  have  been 
so  sure  that  it  was  fastened  on  the  under  side  that 
I  would  not  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  try  it." 

"  It  was  fastened  by  bolts  on  every  corner  until 
I  drew  them,"  the  Shepherd  Priest  answered. 

Dusting  his  hands  upon  his  cloak  in  an  uncon 
scious  habit  from  his  youth,  he  came  back  to  the 
moonlight  and  began  to  give  further  directions 
for  the  carrying  out  of  the  plan  he  had  made,  his 
quiet  tones  as  well-fitted  to  seem  the  voice  of  a 
priest  preparing  a  sinner  for  death  as  the  voice 
of  a  man  guiding  a  brother  man  to  life. 

"For  much  talking  I  have  now  no  time,  but 
everything  lies  on  your  understanding  this  much. 
Listen  then,  my  son!  So  soon  as  the  door  closes 
upon  me,  let  yourself  down  through  the  opening,— 
I  will  keep  the  guard  in  talk  to  cover  any  noise 

284 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

you  may  make.  The  door  at  the  back  you  will 
find  ajar,  and  an  oak's  shadow  screens  the  en 
trance  from  without.  That  oak  clump,  and  the 
shadow  of  the  wall,  will  make  it  easy  for  you  to 
reach  the  western  gate,  where  a  man  stands  guard 
whose  love  for  you  has  got  in  his  eyes  so  that  he 
will  not  be  able  to  see  you  as  you  pass.  When 
you  reach  the  lane  outside —  But  it  will  turn  out 
that  I  reach  that  before  you  do,  since  my  road 
need  not  be  so  roundabout— 

Upon  his  speech  fell  the  sound  of  Visbur's  great 
fist  on  the  door.  He  broke  off  to  lay  hands  upon 
the  song-maker's  shoulders  and  press  him  down 
upon  his  knees.  It  was  a  benediction  that  he 
was  saying  over  the  prisoner  when  the  door  opened 
and  the  brass  -  bound  head  was  thrust  in.  Its 
owner  said  gruffly: 

"Good-luck  go  with  your  prayers,  since  for  love 
of  my  soul  I  let  you  up  to  him!  But  I  love  my 
body  also,  father;  and  the  risk  to  that  gets  greater 
the  longer  you  stay." 

"I  was  even  now  coming,"  the  priest  answered, 
turning;  and  Visbur  lost  no  time  in  fastening  up 
behind  him. 

As  one  trying  to  rouse  himself  out  of  a  stupor, 
Randvar  arose  and  stood  shaking  back  his  hair 
and  opening  and  shutting  his  hands.  As  one 
in  a  dream,  he  heard  the  old  man's  unsteady  steps 

285 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

following  the  guard's  rapid  descent,  heard  the 
gentle  voice  pleading  with  the  gruff  one.  Then 
of  a  sudden  his  wandering  glance  fell  upon  the 
black  gap  in  the  floor — the  loop-hole  in  what  had 
seemed  a  dead  wall.  Like  the  leap  of  flame  through 
smoke  leapt  his  blood  through  his  dulness,  parch 
ing  his  throat,  roaring  in  his  ears.  Now  it  was 
to  restrain  frantic  eagerness  that  he  crushed  his 
lip  between  his  teeth  as  he  swung  himself  swiftly 
through  the  opening. 

A  fur-bale  that  had  been  placed  at  the  bottom 
of  the  now  empty  vat  received  him  without  noise. 
Drawing  himself  up  to  the  top  of  the  wall  which 
the  vat's  side  made,  he  balanced  there  until  on 
the  darkness  shrouding  him  he  had  found  the 
thread  of  silver  light.  Using  hands,  then,  in  place 
of  eyes,  he  climbed  out  and  groped  his  way  be 
tween  bales  and  boxes  and  barrels  to  the  door 
that  had  been  set  ajar,  drew  it  open  and  stepped 
through  it  into  the  moonlight,  and  then  stepped 
aside  into  the  shadow  of  a  giant  oak  that  grew 
there. 

Lifting  the  damp  hair  on  his  forehead,  the  night 
wind  met  him  freshly.  As  to  meet  the  lips  of  a 
woman,  he  lifted  his  burning  face  and  spread 
wide  his  arms.  For  that  long  a  space,  his  heart 
sang  a  song  of  wild  exulting. 

For  that  long — but  for  no  longer.  Around  the 
286 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

great  bole  of  the  oak,  looming  dark  beyond  a  silver 
sea,  he  glimpsed  the  silent  mass  of  Brynhild's 
bower.  Brynhild!  And  this  should  have  been 
their  wedding-day! 

His  hands  tearing  at  his  collar  to  relieve  the 
swelling  agony  of  his  throat,  he  had  taken  a  dozen 
blind  steps  towards  the  silent  pile  before  his  senses 
came  back  to  him,  before  he  thought  to  ask  him 
self  what  good  would  come  of  it  even  should  he 
succeed  in  making  his  way  to  her.  She  armored 
in  pride,  and  he  an  outlawed  man!  Like  a  sail 
which  the  breeze  has  deserted,  his  head  sank;  he 
stood  becalmed. 

When  he  looked  up  again,  the  lines  of  his  white 
face  had  hardened  as  iron  settling  in  a  mould. 

"  Once  in  his  lifetime  it  is  well  for  a  man  to  tell 
himself  the  truth,"  he  said.  "  To  lose  me  will  strike 
as  near  her  heart  as  though  she  had  lost  a  jewel 
from  her  ring — no  nearer.  Once  she  might  look 
for  it,  once  frown  over  the  loss,  once  speak  regret 
fully  of  it, — and  that  is  soon  over!  The  memory 
of  my  arms  around  her,  the  fire  of  her  lips  on  mine, 
the  dream  of  possessing  her — what  more  could  I 
hope  for  ?  For  the  dreamer,  a  dream-bride !  It  is 
well-befitting!" 

A  smile  curled  his  lips  that  was  new  and  ill  to 
see,  as  he  looked  his  last  upon  the  shrine  of  her  he 
loved.  Then  he  turned  and  walked  on  rapidly 

287 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

over  the  tree-guarded  path  that  led  eventually  to 
the  shadow  of  the  wall  and  the  western  gate. 

From  a  distance  he  glimpsed  again  the  gray- 
cloaked  beggar,  out -stretched  as  if  in  slumber ;  but 
he  saw  no  other  living  thing  until  he  saw  the  black- 
robed  priest  move  across  the  bright  court  and  pass 
out  of  the  gate  ahead,  the  sentinel  making  him 
reverent  salute.  Even  though  it  had  been  foretold 
him,  it  deepened  his  sense  of  belonging  no  more  to  the 
living  world  that  when  he  himself  reached  the  exit 
the  man  remained  gazing  fixedly  at  the  sky,  and  he 
dared  neither  greet  nor  touch  him  as  he  passed. 

The  gate  gained  and  left  behind,  his  instructions 
were  exhausted ;  and  he  would  have  halted  to  plan 
further  but  that  out  in  the  radiant  lane  he  found 
the  Shepherd  Priest  awaiting  him,  his  heavy  shock 
of  hair  turned  into  a  silver  glory  around  his  swarthy 
face.  Moving  down  the  dewy  path  beside  him, 
the  old  man  began  at  once  to  speak: 

"  One  thing  I  think  needful  to  say,  my  son ;  and 
that  is  that  I  should  not  be  less  afraid  of  taking 
this  second  step  than  of  taking  the  first  one,  if 
God  had  not  given  me  to  see  most  plainly  what 
His  will  is.  I  want  you  to  know  that  one  week 
ago  He  moved  the  Jarl's  heart  to  speak  and  call 
me  as  witness  that  he  had  solemnly  consented  in 
your  espousal  of  his  sister." 

Randvar  could  not  have  replied  if  he  would. 
288 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

His  gaze  had  gone  ahead  to  a  blossoming  crab- 
tree  that  leaned  over  the  low  stone  wall  and  cano 
pied  half  the  lane.  Masses  of  snowy  bloom  were 
its  branches,  and  snowed  over  with  petals  was  the 
earth  beneath  it,  but  that  white  shape  moving 
before  it — was  that  only  another  branch  blowing 
in  the  soft  night  wind?  Coming  to  meet  them,  it 
looked  like  a  girl  in  a  thrall's  robe  of  white  wool; 
but  the  queenful  poise  of  the  head — the  glint  of 
red-gold  hair  as  the  light  fell  upon  it—  He  put 
out  a  hand  and  gripped  the  old  priest's  shoulder. 

"Tell  me  how  much  this  means?"  he  demanded. 

She  answered  for  herself,  the  girl  in  the  bond 
maid 'skirtle,  as  she  stopped  before  them ;  and  in  voice 
as  well  as  face  she  was  Brynhild,  the  Jarl's  sister. 

"I  should  have  thought  there  was  more  risk  of 
a  man's  forgetting  anything  than  his  wedding-day," 
she  said  with  lips  that  smiled  through  trembling. 

Even  then  he  dared  not  believe  it,  but  stood  gaz 
ing  from  her  to  the  pair  of  saddled  horses  tethered 
in  the  shelter  of  a  spreading  tree.  Drawing  yet 
nearer,  she  held  out  her  hands,  her  gray  eyes  meet 
ing  his  as  steadfast  as  the  gray  North  star. 

"It  means,"  she  said,  "that  even  as  Freya  fol 
lowed  Rolf,  your  wife  follows  you  into  banishment 
—Love,  what  is  it?" 

For  he  had  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before  her 
and  was  kissing  the  hem  of  her  coarse  robe. 


XXIII 

"  Once  must  every  man  die  " 

— Northern  saying. 

T  was  a  radiant  earth  that  kindled 
into  color  with  the  corning  of  the 
light.  Dipping  from  a  hill-top  into 
a  little  valley  abrim  with  the  yellow 
iof  hickory  buds  and  the  new  green 
of  maples  and  the  red-and-pink  of  budding  oak 
leaves,  the  girl  on  the  roan  horse  spoke  dreamily: 
"  Once  you  told  me  that  trees  put  on  their  bright 
est  hues  in  the  autumn  as  warriors  go  bravest  clad 
to  battle.  Now  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  spring 
world  had  put  on  its  showiest  garments  to  wel 
come  you  and  me  to  a  new  life." 

"May  that  become  a  true  omen!"  the  man  who 
rode  behind  her  responded  absently. 

To  turn  and  scan  from  under  his  hand  the  country 
they  had  passed  over,  he  had  drawn  rein  upon  the 
crest.  On  the  gray  anxiety  of  his  face  confidence 
dawned  as  slowly  as  rosy  day  upon  gray  night. 

Smiling,  the  girl  looked  around  at  him.  "What 
are  you  doing  back  there  where  I  cannot  see  you, 

290 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

my  friend?  Since  daybreak  have  you  made  me 
go  first,  even  when  the  path  was  broad  enough  for 
two.  What  masterfulness  is  that  for  a  man  but 
six  hours  wed!" 

"  It  must  be  looked  for  that  a  man  would  be 
tempted  to  make  the  trial  of  mastering  you,"  he 
answered  as  lightly  as  he  could.  "What  I  am 
doing  back  here  is  to  watch  the  haughtiness  of 
your  head  making  derision  of  your  thrall-garb." 

"  I  think  thorns  are  making  derision  of  the  fine 
wedding  clothes  I  sewed  for  you,"  she  laughed. 
"  It  was  quite  another  place  that  I  expected  you 
would  wear  them  in.  Yet  it  pleases  me  also  that 
you  should  go  fine  while  I  go  plain,  for  in  the  realm 
of  the  forest  are  you  not  lord  and  I  the  most  lowly 
of  followers  ?  Saw  you  ever  a  raw  man  newly  come 
to  the  body-guard  that  bent  his  neck  better  to 
orders?" 

A  note  of  laughter  was  silvering  her  voice,  but 
passionate  earnestness  was  in  his  as  he  spurred 
abreast  of  her  and  leaned  over  to  murmur  at  her 
ear: 

"Never  did  woman  so  stoop  to  man  since  the 
Valkyria  came  down  to  Sigurd !  How  ill  do  I  de 
serve  such  love  who  doubted  that  love!" 

The  smile  with  which  she  had  welcomed  him 
deepened  into  laughter  as  tender  as  the  murmur 
of  the  brook  flowing  beside  them.  "  My  dear  one, 

291 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

if  you  but  knew  how  warm  it  lies  at  my  heart — 
my  victory  over  your  doubt!  For  the  first  time, 
I  feel  myself  worthy  of  your  love." 

She  pressed  her  face  to  his,  and  so  they  rode  a 
while,  cheek  to  cheek.  His  arm  tightened  around 
her  with  feeling  how  she  drooped  against  him  in 
the  weariness  she  was  too  proud  to  own.  He  said 
under  his  breath: 

"  I  would  give  all  I  hope  to  possess  in  the  world 
to  spare  you  this.  My  one  fear  is  that  you  will 
come  to  repent  the  choice  you  have  made." 

She  said  without  lifting  her  drooping  lids: 
"  Freya  came  to  Rolf  over  the  bodies  of  slaughtered 
kin,  yet  she  did  not  repent  it;  and  between  you 
and  me  there  is  no  shadow." 

He  was  thankful  then  that  her  eyes  were  closed. 
Before  she  could  open  them  and  catch  the  dread 
which  he  felt  drawing  at  his  mouth,  he  had  made 
the  narrowing  of  the  trail  an  excuse  to  draw  away 
and  rein  back  to  his  post  in  the  rear. 

Narrowing  to  a  thread  between  leaf -walls,  the 
trail  wound  through  a  copse  of  thorn-trees  in  blos 
som.  The  blending  of  her  kirtle  with  their  woolly 
branches  seemed  to  give  Brynhild's  thoughts  a 
new  turn.  Over  her  shoulder,  she  opened  conver 
sation  again: 

"  It  would  not  be  difficult  for  me  to  hide  among 
these  trees.  For  another  reason  I  am  pleased  with 

292 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

myself  for  thinking  of  this  disguise.  Without  it, 
I  should  never  have  been  able  to  pass  out  of  the 
hall  unmarked.  For  two  days  now  there  has  been 
a  gray-cloaked  beggar  hanging  around  the  door 
step, — a  fellow  too  ill-natured  to  speak  even  to  the 
women  who  gave  him  food,  but  so  prying  of  eye 
that  I  have  felt  his  gaze  from  under  his  hat-brim 
every  time  I  went  out  or  in.  Why,  even  you  could 
not  pass  last  night  without  arousing  his  curiosity! 
He  was  staring  out  of  the  western  gate  after  you, 
as  you  and  the  good  father  came  up  the  lane  tow 
ards  me— 

"  Staring  after  me  ?"  Curt  as  man's  to  man  was 
the  Songsmith's  voice.  "And  you  have  not  told 
me  of  it  before!"  , 

She  started  at  the  change  of  tone.  Then  she 
said  gently: 

"  I  forgot  him  in — in  the  other  things  we  spoke 
of  when  we  met,  my  friend.  And  it  did  not  seem 
in  any  wise  important  to  me.  A  wandering  beg 
gar  could  not  know  you  for  a  prisoner  escaped." 

He  did  not  tell  her  that  a  suspicion  had  risen  in 
him  that  the  beggar  was  not  a  beggar.  He  did 
not  tell  her  anything  for  a  space,  but  rode  staring 
fixedly  between  his  horse's  ears.  Her  question  was 
twice  repeated  before  it  reached  him: 

"What  harm  could  spring  from  it,  Randvar?" 

He  said,  slowly,  then:  "You  saw  the  fellow  more 
293 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

than  I,  though  I  have  seen  him  twice.  Did  it  ever 
cross  your  mind  that  he  might  be  Olaf ,  Thorgrim's 
son,  lying  in  wait  for  me  when  I  should  come  healed 
out  of  your  bower?" 

She  cried  out  in  mingled  amazement  and  assent : 
"Olaf!  Then  he  carried  his  news  straight  to  the 
Jarl!  Before  we  had  crossed  the  first  hill,  guards 
were  spurring  after  us!" 

The  whiteness  of  her  face,  as  she  peered  back 
between  the  flowery  branches,  brought  him  out  of 
his  musing.  Pressing  forward,  he  took  the  hand 
she  had  involuntarily  put  out. 

"  Never  will  Helvin  Jarl  send  guards  after  me, 
that  I  have  reason  to  know  for  certain.  Have 
faith  in  my  assurance,  and  no  fear." 

To  get  his  eyes  away  from  hers,  he  bent  over  her 
hand  and  touched  it  with  his  lips.  Whether  or  not 
she  read  his  secret  dread  that  Helvin  himself  would 
be  the  pursuer,  he  could  not  tell.  She  made  no 
other  answer  than  to  give  back  his  hand-clasp 
firmly,  then  turned  and  urged  her  tired  horse  for 
ward. 

Falling  on  the  velvet  sod,  the  hoofs  brought 
forth  no  sound.  With  the  ceasing  of  their  voices, 
silence  like  a  great  sea  closed  about  them.  When 
ever  it  was  rippled  by  the  splash  of  wind  in  the  tops 
of  the  pines  or  by  the  soft  trill  of  a  bird,  the  song- 
maker  knew  a  sense  of  relief.  Nerve  and  sinew,  he 

294 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

was  strained  forward  towards  the  moment  when 
they  should  have  won  through  this  scented  and 
smothering  stillness  to  some  elevation  from  which 
he  could  look  back  over  their  track. 

So  gradually  the  slope  arose  that  he  might  not 
have  known  when  they  reached  the  crest  if  he  had 
not  seen  the  bright  head  before  him  beginning  to 
descend,  sunlike.  His  nails  sinking  into  the  leather 
of  his  saddle  from  the  force  with  which  he  gripped 
it,  he  turned  and  looked  back. 

Nothing  to  be  seen  amid  the  white  drifts  of  the 
thorn-trees.  Nothing  among  the  furry  gray  wil 
lows  bordering  the  brook.  His  eye  leaped  on  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  hollow,  carpeted  with  the 
white  flowers  of  wild  berry  vines, — and  leaping, 
lost  a  moving  dark  shape  even  as  they  caught  it, 
a  moving  slinking  shape.  It  might  have  been 
a  skulking  wolf,  —  and  it  might  have  been  a 
man! 

The  girl  riding  ahead  heard  his  voice  just  be 
hind  her,  speaking  with  chill  quietness: 

"  As  soon  as  ever  you  come  to  that  black-budded 
bush,  turn  to  the  left.  I  remember  that  a  trail 
begins  there.  It  does  not  matter  where  it  leads 
to.  It  is  not  a  beaten  track;  hood  your  head  and 
bend  low,  if  twigs  catch  at  you." 

If  she  wondered  why  he  did  not  go  first  to  break 
the  road,  she  did  not  say  so.  "Yes,"  she  answered 

295 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

as  quietly  as  he  had  spoken,  and  obeyed  him  as  she 
answered. 

Even  before  the  leaves  closed  on  her  bravely 
carried  head,  his  eyes  had  lost  her  through  the  mist 
that  gathered  in  them.  "For  her  sake!"  his  heart 
cried  out  a  prayer  to  the  old  gods  and  the  new. 
Then  he  had  plunged  into  the  thicket  behind  her, 
his  hand  clinched  in  agony  upon  his  empty  sheath. 
Riding  with  one  ear  set  over  his  shoulder,  he  still 
kept  on  telling  himself  that  it  was  impossible  that 
it  should  be  a  man ;  that  no  man  without  the  scent 
of  a  beast  could  have  followed  their  trail,  even  if 
human  limbs  could  be  strong  enough  to  overtake 
them. 

Because  his  attention  was  held  so  fast  by  what 
lay  behind  them,  he  gave  no  heed  to  the  sinister 
road  they  were  flying  over,  to  its  blasted  bushes 
and  the  bone-white  trench  of  a  dead  brook  that 
cut  again  and  again  across  it.  He  leaped  in  his 
saddle  at  a  sharp  cry  from  Brynhild  before  him. 

"Randvar!     What  place  are  we  coming  to?" 

So  like  a  bolt  it  fell  upon  him  that  he  had  pushed 
into  the  open  after  her,  and  checked  his  horse  be 
side  hers,  before  he  himself  realized  to  what  goal 
the  unused  trail  led.  Even  then  it  was  not  he  who 
put  it  into  words,  but  she,  with  her  distended  eyes 
upon  the  pond  of  murky  water  in  the  ring  of  gray 
tree-skeletons. 

296 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

"The  Black  Pool!  Where  my  father  got  his 
death!  It  is  an  omen!" 

He  spoke  no  word  either  of  denial  or  of  comfort. 
Throwing  himself  from  his  horse,  he  snatched  her 
from  her  saddle,  half  carried,  half  dragged  her  to 
where  a  pile  of  bowlders  rose  like  a  cairn  amid  the 
dead  trees.  Upon  the  earth  behind  it,  he  pushed 
her  down. 

"  Hide  there!"  he  told  her  hoarsely.  "Whatever 
happens,  hide  there, — and  keep  your  face  covered! 
He  comes  now  whom  I  would  die  sooner  than  that 
you  should  see." 

The  warning  came  too  late.  While  he  was  still 
speaking,  he  heard  the  horses  behind  him  snort 
and  run,  saw  her  eyes  flash  past  him.  With  a 
shrill  cry,  she  staggered  from  her  knees  to  her  feet 
and  stood  as  one  frozen  there,  one  rigid  arm  thrust 
out  in  pointing.  As  an  echo  to  her  cry  came  from 
the  blasted  bushes  of  the  trail  a  note  of  low  laughter, 
deepening  suddenly  to  a  throaty  gurgle  that  was 
of  neither  man  nor  beast. 

To  that  whirlpool  of  horror,  the  Songsmith's  mind 
was  drawn  in.  Reeling  with  its  madness,  he  plunged 
forward,  bruising  his  fists  on  the  trees  in  the  effort 
to  rouse  himself  out  of  it,  dashing  his  hands  against 
his  eyes  to  break  the  spell  of  that  blind  dizziness. 
As  through  rents  in  a  veil  of  blindness,  he  saw 
Starkad's  son  creeping  towards  them,  saw  wolf 

297 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

eyes  glaring  above  a  frothing  mouth.  With  a  final 
despairing  effort,  he  brought  his  fist  down  where 
the  jagged  stump  of  a  branch  stuck  out  before  him ; 
and  pain  broke  the  spell.  The  strength  of  des 
peration  on  him,  he  leaped  forward  and  closed 
with  the  rearing  form. 

But  even  as  they  grappled,  the  curse-ridden  man 
sought  to  free  himself,  loosing  a  sudden  cry  that 
was  half  a  pealing  laugh  and  half  the  bark  of  a  wolf. 
Hurling  the  song-maker  from  him  upon  the  earth, 
he  was  gone  on  a  bound  to  some  dearer  prey  beyond. 

Struggling  to  his  elbow,  Randvar  stared  after 
him.  Among  the  trees  beside  the  black  water 
had  come  in  sight  a  horseman  wearing  the  gray 
cloak  of  a  beggar  but  the  livid  face  of  Olaf  the 
French, — livid,  sweating,  from  the  haste  with  which 
he  was  spurring  Towerward  by  the  only  path  he 
knew.  Now  creeping,  now  bounding,  the  mad 
man  had  reached  him.  Springing  upon  him  with 
outflung  claw-barbed  hands,  he  had  dragged  him 
fighting  from  his  saddle  and  flung  him  upon  the 
ground.  Snarling,  he  dropped  upon  him  and 
buried  his  teeth  in  the  upturned  throat.  An  in 
stant  of  gurgling  gasping  noises,  and  he  was  up 
and  gone  into  the  forest,  sounding  his  terrible  cry ; 
and  Olaf  lay  dead  even  as  Starkad  Jarl  had  died, 
from  the  fangs  of  the  demon  wolf  that  was  the 
Other  Shape  of  Starkad's  son. 

298 


XXIV 

"He  is  happy  who  gets  himself  fame  while  living  " 

—  Northern  saying. 

was  two  Norse  weeks  after  the 
death  of  Olaf ,  and  it  was  nearly  two- 
I  score  miles  south  of  the  Black  Pool. 
Filtering  through  the  dark  forest,  a 
'long  ray  of  sun  lay  on  Freya's  Tower 
and  revealed  it  as  a  sanctuary  embattled.  Here, 
from  the  lengthening  shadows,  the  bright  beam 
picked  out  a  circle  of  shaggy  deerskin-clad  foresters 
hammering  arrow-heads  at  a  forge  made  of  bowl 
ders.  There,  in  touching  the  earth,  the  slanting 
ray  touched  another  brawny  group  squatted  at 
knife-sharpening.  Yonder,  the  light  streaming 
golden  down  a  tree-aisle  broke  over  a  deerskin- 
garbed  sentinel  pacing  to  and  fro.  Now  the  mur 
mur  of  blended  heavy  voices  and  heavier  laughter 
swelled  like  the  noise  of  the  breakers, — until  some 
one's  exuberance  betrayed  him  into  a  burst  of 
over-facetious  song,  when  he  was  silenced  by 
nudges  and  missiles  and  thumbs  pointing  Tower- 
ward.  Now  the  lull  that  followed  was  broken  by 

ao  2Q9 


Randvar   the   Songsmith 

scattered  hails  and  chaff,  as  a  Skraelling  burdened 
with  a  double  string  of  glistening  fish  came  like  a 
shadow  up  the  path  of  sunshine. 

Making  his  way  gravely  between  the  jovial 
groups,  the  red  man  gravely  evaded  the  jesting 
hands  stretched  out  towards  his  treasure,  and 
stalked  on  to  the  Tower.  At  the  foot  of  one  of 
the  gray  columns,  he  lowered  the  silvery  mass  to 
the  earth  and  stood  awaiting  a  chance  for  speech 
with  his  white  brother's  new  wife. 

In  the  dim  ground-room  there  was  the  flutter  of 
a  blue  robe — the  glint  of  red -gold  hair — and  she  had 
appeared  in  one  of  the  rude  archways.  Against  its 
gray  gloom,  the  glowing  beauty  of  her  face  was  like 
a  fire;  while  the  stark  pillars  were  a  foil  for  her 
body's  soft  and  flowing  curves.  Without  speak 
ing,  the  savage  stood  gazing  at  her, — even  as  every 
woodsman  within  eyeshot  had  stopped  short  in 
speech  or  work  /to  gaze.  It  was  she  who  spoke, 
composedly,  giving  him  thanks  for  his  gift,  then 
went  and  poured  him  a  horn  of  wild-grape  wine 
and  brought  it  to  him. 

Even  while  his  mouth  busied  itself  with  the 
drink,  his  eyes  stared  at  her  over  the  silver  rim. 
But  as  he  gave  the  horn  back,  he  spoke  in  broken 
Norse : 

"Say  to  the  white  chief  that  the  men  of  the 
stone-axe  race  have  set  up  their  houses  around 

300 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

him.  Say  to  him  that  they  turn  their  weapons 
whither  he  points.  Say  to  him  that  they  will 
bring  him  the  white  sachem's  red  scalp  whenever 
he  gives  the  sign." 

The  hand  of  the  white  sachem's  sister  made  a 
convulsive  movement  that  lost  her  the  horn,  but 
her  brave  gray  eyes  continued  to  meet  his  steadily. 

"I  will  tell  him,"  she  answered.  "His  heart 
will  be  thankful  towards  his  friends." 

Though  his  face  remained  set  in  her  direction, 
the  Skraelling  turned  the  rest  of  him  and  moved 
away  as  he  had  come,  until  his  dusky  shape  was 
lost  in  the  dusky  wood. 

Gazing  after  him  with  unseeing  eyes,  she  stayed 
a  moment  in  the  archway,  while — mute  and  mo 
tionless  as  so  many  bowlders — the  foresters  stayed 
gazing  furtively  at  her.  Then  a  curly- headed  boy 
in  a  page's  ragged  dress  of  blue  came  out  of  the 
Tower  and  broke  in  upon  her  thoughts,  as  he  bent 
to  pick  up  the  forgotten  cup. 

"How  clumsy  in  their  manners  such  creatures 
must  look  to  you,  Jarl's  sister,  it  is  easy  for  me  to 
understand,  for  in  former  days  they  went  against 
my  taste  also.  But  when  your  experience  of  life 
has  been  as  broad  as  mine  has,  sooner  will  you 
choose  their  ugly  worth  than  the  fair  falseness  of 
the  Town-people.  I  say  it,  though  I  am  hard  to 
please!" 

301 


Randvar   the  Song  smith 

A  note  of  unsteady  laughter  shook  the  long 
breath  with  which  the  Jarl's  sister  straightened; 
but  her  arm  lay  lightly  around  the  boy's  neck  as 
they  went  back  in-doors,  and  he  expanded  under 
the  caress  as  a  bantam  that  is  about  to  crow. 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  you  should  always  lean  upon 
me !  I  told  my  mother  this  noon — when  she  asked 
me  to  fetch  you  the  fowl  and  the  loaf — that  it  was 
in  my  mind  to  visit  you  as  often  as  I  could  find 
time.  And  I  told  her  that  I  meant  always  to 
wear  these  fine  clothes  so  that  you  should  feel  at 
home  with  me,  and  not  feel  that  I  had  grown 
savage  and  terrible  like  the  others  around  you. 
And  perhaps  it  will  also  help  you  to  lose  it  out  of 
your  thoughts  for  a  while  that  you  are  poor,  with 
no  one  to  wait  on  you." 

Though  she  laughed  again,  the  sound  was  more 
soft  than  a  caress. 

"Poor?"  she  repeated.  "Listen,  little  Viking! 
Once  I  was  poor,  when  I  thought  there  was  no 
more  to  the  world  than  the  few  hedged  roads  I 
knew,  and  my  life  was  but  an  empty  round  that 
others  marked  out  for  me,  and  I  had  nothing  but 
ring-bought  gifts  to  give  my  friends.  But  now! 
Now  when  each  hour  some  wondrous  path  un 
dreamed  of  is  opened  to  me — Now  that  my  life  is 
a  fabric  I  weave  myself  till  from  the  roots  of  my 
hair  to  the  soles  of  my  feet  I  thrill  with  the  joy  of 

302 


Randvar   the   Songsmith 

the  work — Now  that  my  breast  is  so  full  of  love 
that  ofttimes  it  aches  with  the  burden  and  yearns 
for  a  worldful  of  folk  to  lavish  it  upon — 

Her  ecstasy  mounted  higher  than  her  words 
could  follow.  While  it  soared,  she  stood  silent. 
When,  because  it  was  of  earth,  it  sank  again  earth 
ward,  she  spoke  under  her  breath: 

"Only  shall  I  be  poor,  Eric,  if  the  Fates  take 
from  me  the  man  who  has  wrought  this  change  in 
my  nature.  If  it  happen  to  him  to  meet  with — 
with  my  kin — some  day — and  the  same  overtake 
him  that  overtook  Olaf— 

Her  hand  gripped  the  boy's  shoulder  so  that  he 
would  have  cried  out  if  he  had  not  guessed  from 
the  whitening  of  her  lips  how  much  harder  Dread 
was  clutching  at  her  heart.  Gritting  his  teeth,  he 
supported  her  manfully. 

"There  is  no  man  like  Randvar  in  all  the  new 
lands,"  he  panted,  "and  I  would  fight  for  none  as 
I  would  fight  for  him." 

Loosening  their  hold,  the  fingers  rose  and  swept 
his  cheek  fondly,  and  the  Jarl's  sister  moved  away 
and  bent  over  the  smouldering  fire  to  stir  it. 
Though  she  did  not  turn  again,  her  voice  came  to 
him  with  its  wonted  gracious  composure. 

"Have  thanks  for  your  friendship,  little  friend! 
And  give  my  thanks  to  your  mother  for  her  good 
gifts ;  and  tell  her  that  if  she  does  not  come  oftener 

303 


Randvar  the  Song  smith 

to  visit  me  I  shall  take  it  as  a  sign  that  because 
she  has  gone  to  live  in  Snowfrid's  booth,  she  feels 
that  I  have  crowded  her  out  of  her  home.  Will 
you  bear  that  in  mind?" 

For  the  fourth  time  since  he  had  begun  to  think 
of  tearing  himself  away,  Eric  picked  up  his  feath 
ered  blue  cap. 

"Naught  shall  be  forgotten,  Jarl's  sister,"  he 
reassured  her.  "And  now  I  fear  that  I  must  in 
truth  take  leave  of  you.  With  Bolverk  so  often 
away  on  hunts,  I  find  that  the  wants  of  Snowfrid 
and  my  mother  put  not  a  little  care  on  my  shoul 
ders;  and  my  intention  is  that  they  shall  never 
lack  for  anything  now  that  I  have  come  home  to 
take  care  of  them.  Jarl's  sister,  I  bid  you  farewell 
until  to-morrow." 

The  purpose  of  the  plumed  cap  became  apparent 
as  by  its  aid  he  added  elaborate  flourishes  to  his 
bow.  Then  fixing  the  bauble  upon  his  curly  head, 
he  went  away  hurriedly,  as  became  one  weighted 
with  responsibility ;  and  as  became  one  torn  be 
tween  love  and  fear,  the  Jarl's  sister  went  up  the 
ladder-like  stairs  with  a  hand  pressed  to  her  heart, 
and  crossing  the  strange  little  fur-hung  bower, 
dropped  down  beside  Freya's  window  to  watch  as 
Freya  before  her  had  watched. 

Higher  and  higher  slanted  the  long  rays,  until 
only  the  tree-tops  knew  their  golden  glory.  The 

3°4 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

horizon  became  as  a  band  of  red  fire  behind  the 
black  net-work  of  the  woods.  The  lower  that  fire 
burned,  the  farther  the  great  outside  world  seemed 
to  fall  away  from  the  little  world  of  the  Tower.  As 
though  to  make  a  stand  against  impending  isola 
tion,  the  foresters  drew  their  circle  closer  and 
beaconed  it  with  cheery  fires.  Over  the  young 
wife's  vigil  crept  a  spell  of  awe,  so  that  though  she 
leaned  wide-eyed  upon  the  sill  she  did  not  see  the 
one  for  whom  she  watched  when  presently  he  came 
up  a  twilit  trail,  a  spear  gleaming  on  his  shoulder, 
Bolverk's  brawny  bulk  looming  beside  him. 

It  was  he  who  espied  her — her  bright  head  like 
a  star  hung  low  in  the  gloaming — and  slackened 
his  pace  to  stand  looking  at  her. 

Following  his  friend's  gaze,  Bolverk  spoke  with 
his  buoyant  laugh:  "Small  wonder  you  stare,  com 
rade,  at  seeing  Freya's  ghost  filling  Freya's  blue 
kirtle!" 

The  song -maker  roused  himself  with  a  deep 
breath  that  was  like  a  sigh.  When  he  moved  for 
ward  again,  the  springiness  was  gone  from  his 
step. 

"Would  that  I  did  not  see  the  ghost  of  Freya 
whenever  I  looked  at  my  wife!"  he  said.  "Like 
goblin-bells  they  start  out  of  space  and  clang  in 
my  ear,  the  words  Erna  spoke  that  night  by  the 
Tower  fire, — '  Freya  loved  Rolf  in  spite  of  all,  but 

3°5 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

it  was  the  effort  of  doing  so  that  wore  her  out  be 
fore  half  her  life  was  lived." 

A  second  time  Randvar  came  to  a  stand-still ;  and 
as  the  sun  from  the  wood,  so  had  the  light  fled 
from  his  face  and  left  it  a  place  of  shadowy  dread. 

"Suppose,"  he  said,  "that  my  quarrel  with — the 
Jarl — come  to  no  round  end  one  way  or  the  other 
but,  as  oftenest  happens,  drag  on  and  on  in  uncer 
tainty.  .  .  .  Suppose  the  Jarl's  sister  wearing  out 
year  after  year  between  these  walls  of  solitude  .  .  . 
eating  into  her  memory,  the  murder  of  her  father 
.  .  .  burning  into  her  eyes,  the  thing  we  saw  at  the 
Pool  .  .  .  gnawing  at  her  heart,  her  fear  for  me.  .  .  . 
Suppose  it  should  not  be  her  love  that  gave  way— 

"Nor  her  life!"  Bolverk  finished  hastily.  "Nor 
her  life!" 

But  the  weight  did  not  lift  from  the  Songsmith's 
bent  shoulders.  He  said  slowly:  "When  grisly 
thoughts  had  dwelt  long  enough  in  her  brother's 
mind,  it  was  not  his  body  that  they  killed,  but  his 
reason." 

Gasping  a  dread  word,  Bolverk  caught  him  by 
the  arm.  In  heavy  silence  they  walked  the  rest 
of  the  distance  that  lay  between  them  and  the 
cordon  of  fires. 

Giving  them  greeting  and  at  the  same  time  de 
manding  their  news,  a  score  of  voices  broke  in  upon 
their  reverie.  In  a  moment,  the  song-maker  was 

306 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

the  centre  of  a  cordial  group  that  listened  eagerly 
while  he  told  how  the  Skraelling  chief  had  received 
him,  and  approved  boisterously  the  new  trading 
treaty  which  the  chief  had  granted  to  the  new 
colony  at  the  Tower. 

"No  better  pleader  than  you  was  Njal  of  Ice 
land!"  growled  the  veteran  in  bearskin.  "Next 
spring  we  shall  send  to  Nidaros  a  richer  ship  than 
ever  sailed  from  Norumbega;  and  no  less  a  man 
than  you  shall  stand  by  the  steering-oar." 

"Yes!  Yes!"  the  chorus  gave  jovial  approba 
tion,  and  made  a  jesting  onslaught  as  though  they 
would  have  raised  him  to  their  shoulders.  But 
his  expression  grew  in  grimness  as  he  motioned 
them  back. 

"A  ship  that  had  a  corpse  on  board  would  get 
better  luck  than  one  that  had  me  at  the  steering- 
oar,"  he  said.  "I  have  told  you  without  deceit 
that  I  stand  so  with  most  Northmen  that  my  name 
and  the  word  traitor  has  the  same  meaning.  Never 
make  the  mistake  of  thinking  that  I  shall  let  you 
put  me  forward  where  I  should  draw  down  hatred 
and  failure  on  your  heads.  When  you  have  lent 
me  your  weapons  to  guard  my  wife,  you  have  done 
me  as  great  a  service  as  a  man  can  do  another,  and 
I  have  reaped  all  the  good  of  your  love  that  I  can 
bear.  Never  can  I  repay  you  as  it  is!" 

He  broke  off  abruptly.  Perhaps  they  were  glad 
3°7 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

that  he  did  not  wait  for  them  to  answer,  but  leav 
ing  them  strode  on  towards  the  Tower.  Yet  it 
would  have  been  no  unworthy  response  if  they  had 
put  into  words  what  spoke  from,  their  hard  faces 
as  they  watched  him  gain  the  firelit  archway  and 
take  his  young  bride  in  his  arms.  To  search  with 
passionate  anxiety  the  eyes  she  lifted  to  his,  he 
held  her  there,  forgetful  of  all  the  world  beside; 
while  her  hands  betrayed  a  passionate  eagerness 
to  clasp  his  hands,  to  cling  to  his  deerskin-sleeve, 
to  feel  him  safe  and  whole. 

It  may  be  that  when  life  is  at  its  fullest,  the  need 
of  words  falls  away  like  a  husk  that  is  shed.  By- 
and-by  when  the  two  had  gone  in  to  their  rude 
hearth,  tongue-speech  grew  less  and  less  frequent 
between  them,  less  and  less  until — like  candle-light 
into  sunshine — it  faded  into  the  perfect  commun 
ion  of  silence. 

Bringing  the  fowl  from  its  bed  in  the  hot  ashes, 
the  bread  from  its  birch  basket,  the  wine  from  its 
cask,  the  young  mistress  of  the  Tower  moved  to 
and  fro  in  the  firelight.  Resting  on  a  fur-heaped 
bench  in  the  shadow,  the  young  master  followed 
her  every  motion  with  worshipful  eyes.  Some 
times,  as  their  gaze  met,  the  gracious  gravity  of  her 
demeanor  sparkled  into  a  moment's  playful  mim 
icry  of  some  pompous  servitor  they  had  known  in 
the  pageantry  of  the  Jarl's  house,  and  their  laugh- 

308 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

tcr,  bass  and  treble,  blended  in  a  full  chord.  Some 
times  it  was  his  hand  that  encountered  hers,  and 
closing  on  it  with  an  inarticulate  cry,  put  it  to  his 
lips  in  place  of  wine,  and  pressed  it  there  while  for 
them  both  Time  ceased  to  be. 

And  then  again,  a  moment  came  when  for  him 
all  jest  went  out  of  her  service,  when  to  see  her 
waiting  before  him  in  Freya's  faded  robe  of  blue 
was  a  thing  he  could  not  bear.  Rising,  he  took 
horn  and  trencher  from  her  hands  and  flung  them 
aside,  and  almost  roughly  placed  her  on  the  cush 
ion-heaped  bench,  and  placed  himself  on  the  cedar 
mat  at  her  feet. 

"One  high-seat  you  shall  have,  and  one  thrall!" 
he  said  fiercely ;  and  drawing  his  harp  towards  him, 
he  played  for  her  as  he  had  never  played  for  him 
self  nor  yet  for  the  Jarl  in  all  the  splendor  of  his 
feast-hall. 

She  made  but  one  alteration,  stretching  out  her 
hand  that  it  might  thread  his  hair  as  his  head 
leaned  against  her  knee;  then  with  eyes  softly 
closed  and  lips  softly  parted,  she  rested  listen 
ing. 

Floating  through  Paradise  on  the  wings  of  the 
music,  she  knew  nothing  of  it  when  the  circles  of 
the  outlying  camp  -  fires  were  thrown  into  com 
motion  as  reeds  by  an  incoming  wave.  Only 
when  Randvar  plucked  a  twanging  discord  from 

309 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

the  harp -strings,  and  then  flung  the  instrument 
from  him,  did  she  start  awake. 

One  hand  stretched  behind  him  to  grasp  her 
robe,  and  one  hand  thrust  across  him  to  clutch  his 
knife-hilt,  he  had  risen  to  his  knee  before  her.  Over 
his  shoulder  she  saw  what  he  saw — a  brass  helmet 
glowing  in  the  firelight  where  the  path  gave  upon 
the  open,  more  brass  helmets  glinting  like  fire-flies 
far  up  the  dusk  of  the  trail.  Now  four  figures 
separated  themselves  from  the  throng,  and  push 
ing  through  the  wavering  rank  of  foresters,  came 
Towerward, — two  figures  in  dark  robes  and  one 
wearing  the  plumed  cap  of  a  courtman  and  one 
clad  in  shining  mail. 

"  Mord — and  the  Shepherd  Priest !  Gunnar — Vis- 
bur!"  the  Songsmith  told  them  off  mechanically. 

The  arms  Brynhild  had  locked  around  his  neck 
tightened  as  she  whispered  at  his  ear:  "God  be 
praised,  Helvin  is  not  there!  Love,  if  they  meant 
us  ill,  they  would  not  have  fetched  Gunnar  and 
the  Priest,  who  are  our  friends." 

But  Randvar's  voice  was  harsh  as  he  loosened 
her  hands  that  he  might  rise.  "  If  they  mean  us 
well,  why  do  they  come  with  a  troop  of  armed 
men  at  their  heels?"  Never  quitting  his  grip  on 
his  hilt,  he  strode  forward  and  stood  a  pace  be 
yond  his  threshold,  awaiting  them. 

Glancing  down  at  her  poor  attire,  it  seemed  for 
310 


Randvar   the  Songsmith 

an  instant  as  though  the  Jarl's  sister  would  have 
shrunk  back  into  the  shadow ;  and  then  as  one 
would  catch  up  a  deserter  she  caught  herself,  and 
holding  her  head  high,  moved  forward  until  she 
stood  at  her  husband's  side. 

At  sight  of  the  Songsmith,  the  sentinel  of  the 
path  cried  out  earnestly:  "We  let  them  through, 
Rolf's  son,  only  because  they  pledged  you  peace. 
If  they  have  spoken  false — 

He  did  not  finish,  but  it  was  not  needful  that 
he  should.  Around  the  ring  of  hunters,  like  the 
light  of  a  moonbeam,  sped  the  glint  of  steel.  And 
still  beyond  that,  where  wood  encompassed  the 
open,  there  passed  of  a  sudden  a  noiseless  stir,  as 
if  from  every  tree-shadow  there  had  glided  a  lithe 
and  'dusky  body.  Joining  soundlessly  as  shadows 
blend,  the  dark  mass  drew  nearer,  until  here  the 
firelight  was  reflected  in  rows  of  glittering  eyes, 
there  through  the  gloaming  gleamed  the  pale 
shapes  of  stone  axes  uplifted.  It  is  no  shame  to 
the  courage  of  Gunnar  the  Merry  that  his  hand 
some  face  blanched  as  his  glance  made  the  circuit. 
Mord  spoke  sternly  when  they  came  to  a  halt  be 
fore  the  young  master  of  the  Tower. 

"What  right  have  you  to  speak  of  peacefulness, 
Randvar,  Rolf's  son,  that  surround  yourself  with 
outlaws  and  savages  of  the  wood,  ready  to  do 
murder  at  your  bidding?" 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

Even  in  the  twilight  it  could  be  seen  how  the 
blood  mounted  in  the  Songsmith 's  brown  face, 
but  there  was  no  wavering  in  his  mouth's  steady 
line  as  he  answered. 

"  I  take  friendship  and  help  where  I  find  them 
freest  and  truest,  and  I  expect  evil  from  the  quar 
ter  whence  evil  has  risen  against  me  before. 
Though  you  come  in  the  name  of  the  Jarl,  to  whom 
you  hold  me  traitor,  I  shall  not  yield  a  whit  more. 
Your  blood  be  on  your  heads  if  you  heed  me  not!" 

From  the  gathering  circle  of  foresters  came  back 
a  sound  like  an  ominous  echo ;  and  the  murmur  was 
taken  up  in  the  wood  beyond,  till  it  rose  like  the 
roar  of  the  wind  in  the  trees.  But  all  at  once  Vis- 
bur  made  a  long  stride  forward  and  held  out  his 
huge  hand. 

"Never  look  at  me  with  that  look  on  your  face 
comrade!"  he  said  gruffly.  "  I  know  now  that  you 
were  no  traitor  to  Starkad's  son,  and  Rolf's  selt 
would  not  be  gladder  of  the  knowledge.  Take  now 
my  hand  as  a  token  that  you  will  accept  atone 
ment  from  me." 

The  Songsmith  and  his  young  wife  spoke  in  one 
breath:  "You  know—?" 

"From  him  who  alone  had  the  right  to  tell  it," 
Visbur  answered  briefly.  "While  the  day  was 
still  young,  we  came  upon  Starkad's  son  in  the 
forest  near  the  Town,  with  Olaf's  blood  yet  on 

312 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

him.  Because  his  wits  were  not  in  him,  he  mis 
took  us  for  Shapes  risen  to  torment  him,  and  stood 
and  shouted  his  secret  at  us  in  defiance.  And  then 
his  strength  went  from  him;  and  he  fell  down  to 
the  earth;  and  death  came  to  him  where  he  fell." 

"And  it  was  on  your  name  that  he  called  as  he 
died,"  the  gentle  voice  of  the  Shepherd  Priest 
sounded  amid  the  stillness  that  had  spread.  "  Be 
cause  I  was  the  first  to  reach  him  and .  raise  his 
head  to  my  breast,  it  is  likely  he  thought  it  was 
you,  for  he  spoke  your  name  in  a  tone  of  love;  and 
that  was  his  last  breath." 

No  longer  was  there  steadiness  in  Randvar's 
voice  as  he  tried  to  speak.  Of  a  sudden  it  broke, 
and  he  turned  away  from  the  eyes  upon  him  and 
stood  with  his  face  in  the  shadow,  his  clinching 
hand  still  holding  his  young  wife  to  his  side.  What 
she  said  softly  in  his  ear — whether  of  grief  for  her 
kin  or  gratitude  for  her  loved  one's  safety — none 
could  hear. 

Then  it  was  Mord  the  Grim  who  spoke  with  cere 
mony:  "Now  the  end  of  it  is  that  Helvin  Jarl  has 
been  five  days  dead  and  five  days  buried,  and  we 
have  come  to  offer  the  rule  to  you,  Starkad's 
daughter,  who  are  the  next  of  kin—  He  lifted  his 
hand  as,  turning,  Starkad's  daughter  would  have 
interrupted  him,  indignantly.  "To  you  and  to 
your  husband,  who  is  of  all  men  most  beloved 


Randvar  the  Songsmith 

by  the  folk  of  the  new  lands.  To  you  two  to 
gether." 

What  Brynhild  cried  out,  as  she  stretched  her 
hands  towards  them,  could  not  be  heard  for  the  ac 
clamations  that  burst  from  the  listening  foresters. 
Then,  drowning  even  that,  rose  the  clangor  of  the 
guardsmen's  shields  as  they  pounded  on  them  with 
their  swords. 

Once  more  the  Songsmith 's  lips  became  un 
steady,  so  that  he  dared  not  trust  his  voice  to 
them;  but  presently  he  turned  and  made  the 
shouting  throng  a  gesture  of  acceptance  of  their 
honor  and  of  thankfulness  for  their  love,  and  all 
understood  him. 


THE     END 


..  """''llflffff /jjjj/ljjl  III 


